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DANTE  &  HIS  TIME 


DANTE 

PORTRAIT  BY  GIOTTO 
FROM  THE   FRESCO   IN   THE  BARGELLO,   FLORENCE. 


REPRODUCED   BY  PERMISSION   OF  G.  GROTES  VERLAG.  BERLIN. 


DANTE  ftp  HIS  TIME 

BY 

KARL    FEDERN 

WITH    AN    INTRODUCTION    BY 

A.  J.   BUTLER 

AND    ILLUSTRATIONS 


LONDON 
WILLIAM    HEINEMANN 


190 


RFFSE 


This  Edition  enjoys  Copyright  in  all 
Countries  signatory  to  the  Berne 
Treaty^  and  is  not  to  be  imported 
into  the   United  States  oj  America 


TO   MY   DEAR   FRIEND 

EDWARD   FALCK 

THIS  VERSION  OF   MY   BOOK 
IS   DEDICATED 


INTRODUCTION 


The  vogue  which  the  study  of  Dante  enjoys  at  the  present 
time  is  a  phenomenon  somewhat  difficult  to  explain.  It 
is  not  part  of  any  general  interest  in  the  Italian  language 
and  literature;  which,  in  England  at  all  events,  still  suffer 
under  "  the  deplorable  and  barbarous  neglect "  perceived 
and  lamented  by  Mr.  Gladstone  a  quarter  of  a  century  ago. 
The  immense  interval,  unparalleled  in  other  literatures,  by 
which  Dante  surpasses  all  other  craftsmen  in  his  mother 
tongue  may  perhaps  to  some  extent  explain  this  concen- 
tration of  interest  upon  him ;  but  it  is  no  doubt  mainly 
due  to  the  way  in  which,  as  I  have  elsewhere  said,  he  fills 
the  stream  of  history  from  side  to  side.  Follow  almost 
what  line  you  will  of  historical  investigation,  you  will  not 
carry  it  back  into  the  Middle  Ages  without  finding  him 
upon  it.  I  take  down  from  my  shelves  books  as  various 
in  subject  as  Humboldt's  "  Cosmos,"  Whewell's  "History 
of  the  Inductive  Sciences,"  Bryce's  "Holy  Roman 
Empire,"  Ueberweg's  "History  of  Philosophy";  in  the 
index  of  each  I  find  the  name  of  Dante  Alighieri.  Thus 
he  is,  of  all  the  great  poets  of  the  world,  the  one  who 


viii  INTRODUCTION 

takes  most  explaining;  the  one,  it  may  almost  be  said, 
who  most  appeals  to  that  love  of  solving  problems  and 
diving  into  mysteries  which  is  with  many  people  a  motive 
nearly  as  strong  as  the  passive  enjoyment  of  poetical 
beauty.  You  never  feel  sure  that  you  have  got  to  the 
bottom  of  what  a  French  writer  has  called  "  les  replis  de 
son  genie"  This  again  sets  him  in  a  different  class  from 
all  the  most  eminent  of  his  successors.  Allegory  in 
Petrarch  does  not  go  beyond  an  occasional  play  on  a 
proper  name  ;  nor  does  one  look  for  mysticism  in  Ariosto. 
Whether  or  not  this  consideration  may  be  held  to 
account  at  least  in  part  for  the  popularity  enjoyed  by 
Dante,  alone  among  Italian  writers,  in  the  taste  of  the 
present  generation,  it  undoubtedly  explains  the  immense 
mass  of  literature  which  has  grown  up  around  him,  and 
to  which  recent  years  have  contributed  not  less  than  their 
fair  proportion.  Dante  affords  exercise  alike  to  the  minute 
student  who  delights  in  tracing  literary  and  personal 
allusions  to  their  source,  in  verifying  details  of  chronology, 
in  philological  and  linguistic  inquiries ;  to  the  student  of 
theology  and  politics;  to  the  philosopher,  the  man  of 
science,  the  historian;  even  to  writers  with  fluent  pens 
and  a  turn  for  pious  sentimentalism,  or  exposition  of  the 
obvious.  So  much  indeed  is  written  about  Dante  that  is 
clearly  superfluous,  that  one  is  in  some  danger  of  forget- 
ting how  much  work  yet  remains  to  be  done.  No  adequate 
edition,  for  example,  existed  till  quite  recently  of  any  of 
the   minor  works;   and  though  Messrs.  Wicksteed  and 


INTRODUCTION  ix 

Gardiner  have  just  supplied  this  deficiency  in  the  case  of 
the  Latin  Eclogues,  these,  however  interesting  in  them- 
selves, represent  the  smallest  fraction  of  Dante's  sub- 
ordinate writings.  Professor  Pio  Rajna  has  dealt  effectively 
with  the  text  of  the  "  de  Vulgari  Eloquentia,"  and  it  may 
be  hoped  that  his  explanatory  comment  will  before  long 
see  the  light  and  prove  a  worthy  companion  to  his  textual 
labours.  But  the  "  Convito,"  the  "  de  Monarchia,"  the 
lyrical  poems,  all  urgently  demand  for  both  text  and 
matter  the  thorough  and  scholarly  treatment  which,  if 
they  had  chanced  to  have  been  composed  a  thousand  years 
earlier,  they  would  in  all  probability  have  long  ago  en- 
joyed. 

Another  lack  which  has  certainly  been  apparent  in 
England  is  that  of  some  biographical  account  of  Dante 
which  should  present  him  not  merely  in  relation  to  the 
actual  time  in  which  he  lived,  or  even  to  the  history 
of  his  own  city,  but  to  the  course  of  general  European 
history,  of  which  the  political,  social,  and  religious  position 
of  affairs  in  his  time  was  the  outcome.  A  good  deal  of 
light  has  been  thrown  on  all  these  points  by  recent 
research ;  of  which,  again,  the  results  have  been  made 
accessible  by  such  books  as  Signor  Villari's  H  I  Primi 
due  Secoli  della  Storia  di  Firenze  "  and  Dr.  Davidsohn's 
"  Geschichte  von  Florenz."  A  handy  popular  summary 
of  what  would  be  to  Dante  the  past  history  of  Christen- 
dom, giving  in  brief  outline  the  sequence  of  political  events 
in  Church  and  State,  the  progress  of  speculative  thought 


x  INTRODUCTION 

and  learning,  the  development  of  social  conditions,  with 
special  reference  to  the  transformation  wrought  in  all 
these  departments  by  the  substitution  of  German  for 
.  Latin  hegemony — no  better  aid  than  this  could  be  offered 
to  the  student  who  desired  to  look  out  on  Dante's  world 
so  far  as  possible  with  Dante's  eyes.  Yet  if  he  wanted 
anything  of  this  sort,  it  was  hard  to  say  where,  in  English 
at  all  events,  he  was  to  find  it ;  and  he  has  all  the  more 
reason  to  be  grateful  to  Dr.  Federn  for  thus  attending  to 
his  needs,  after  supplying  those  of  his  own  countrymen. 
.  For  it  must  be  observed  that  the  present  volume  is  no 
/  mere  translation,  but  a  revised  issue  by  the  author  himself 
in  a  foreign  tongue  of  a  work  originally  composed  in  his 
own.  Every  one  must  congratulate  him  in  his  easy 
command  of  an  unwonted  medium,  and  on  the  excellent 
results  he  has  succeeded  in  producing  in  it. 

It  would  be  too  much  to  say  that  all  Dr.  Federn's  state- 
ments and  inferences  will  command  the  unqualified  assent 
of  every  "  Dante-Forscher."  The  present  writer  would 
be  prepared,  if  this  were  the  place,  to  pick  several  crows 
with  him.  His  views  on  the  Beatrice  question  are 
perhaps  not  thoroughly  convincing.  But  he  is  always 
reasonable;  as  far  removed  from  the  extravagant  in- 
credulity of  some  recent  writers  as  from  the  unsupported 
imaginings  that  were  indulged  by  an  earlier  school.  He 
realises  the  essential  grandeur  of  the  Middle  Ages  with 
their  daring  speculation,  their  revival  of  interest  in  beauty 
of  form  and  in  the  literary  expression  of  reflection  and 


INTRODUCTION  xi 

emotion,  their  robustness  of  thought  and  action.  He 
indicates  clearly,  if  briefly,  the  true  questions  at  issue 
between  the  political  parties  in  Italy,  which  had  such 
important  consequences  for  Dante;  and  points  out  the 
inadequacy  of  the  old  notion,  still  to  some  extent  current, 
that  Guelfs  were  in  any  sense  either  representatives  of 
Italian  patriotism  or  defenders  of  the  rights  of  the  Church. 
When  he  comes  to  the  division  of  his  book  which  deals 
more  immediately  with  Dante's  personal  record,  we  find 
the  same  sobriety  of  judgment,  the  same  reluctance  to 
overturn  long-accepted  opinions,  so  long  as  they  do  not 
involve  a  physical  impossibility  or  conflict  with  well- 
attested  facts,  the  same  effort  to  put  himself  at  Dante's 
point  of  view — a  very  different  one,  it  may  be  remarked, 
from  that  of  the  average  respectable  person,  the  Monna 
Berta  and  Ser  Martino,  of  contemporary  society.  He 
goes,  perhaps,  a  little  further  than  is  necessary  in  distrust 
of  Boccaccio;  forgetting,  it  would  seem,  that  any  state- 
ments made  by  Boccaccio  must  have  quickly  come  to  the 
knowledge  of  scores  of  people  who  were  well  acquainted 
with  the  facts,  and  that  neither  his  disciple  Benvenuto  nor 
any  one  else  gives  the  least  hint  of  any  contradiction 
having  been  given  to  them.  On  the  other  hand,  Dr. 
Federn  lets  us  continue  to  believe  in  the  authenticity  of 
the  traditional  portraits,  which  attempts  have  been  made 
to  discredit.  He  accepts  what  may  be  called  the  Canon 
of  Dante's  writings,  without  any  of  that  shallow  scep- 
ticism, usually  based  on  imperfect  knowledge,    by  which 


xii  INTRODUCTION 

sciolists  seek  notoriety.  His  book  will  be  all  the  more 
acceptable  to  English  and  American  students,  among 
whom  such  vagaries  have  seldom  found  much  favour. 

Another  point  with  which  Dr.  Federn  seems  to  me  to 
deal  more  satisfactorily  than  most  biographers  of  Dante 
is  that  of  the  phases  through  which  his  intellectual  and 
still  more  his  spiritual  nature  had  to  pass,  "  before  the 
author  of  the  '  New  Life '  could  become  the  poet  of  the 
4  Divine  Comedy.' w  He  dismisses  Witte's  famous  theory 
(which,  indeed,  few  would  now  be  found  to  support)  that 
these  two  works  with  the  "  Convito  "  form  a  u  trilogy  "  in 
which  Dante's  passage  from  the  simple  faith  of  childhood 
through  a  period  of  doubt  to  the  reasoned  belief  of 
maturer  years,  is  set  forth  ;  on  the  ground  that  we  have 
no  evidence  that  Dante  was  ever  anything  but  a  devout 
Christian.  But  he  realises  that  a  great  revulsion  did  at 
some  time  take  place  in  him ;  without  which,  indeed,  the 
great  scene  of  confession  and  contrition  at  the  end  of  the 
"  Purgatory  "  is  unintelligible.  And,  though  he  does  not 
use  the  term,  he  is  clearly  aware  that  this  was  of  the 
nature  of  what,  in  the  language  of  one  religious  school,  is 
called  conversion  or  conviction  of  sin.  There  is  no  reason 
that  a  person  in  order  to  undergo  this  experience  should 
be  conscious  of  any  unusual  depravity ;  and  there  is  no 
need  to  suppose  that  the  words  put  by  Dante  into  the 
mouth  of  Beatrice  on  the  occasion  in  question  are  meant 
to  imply  anything  of  the  kind.  Chapter  V.  of  the  second 
part  of  this  book  makes  it  plain  that  Dr.  Federn  is  on  the 


INTRODUCTION  xiii 

right  track  in  regard  to  this  subject,  a  due  understanding 
of  which  will  prevent  many  misconceptions.  For  instance, 
no  one  who  has  grasped  its  full  significance  will  ever  be 
misled  by  the  theories,  so  dishonouring  to  Dante,  which 
would  involve  him  in  discreditable  love-affairs  at  Lucca, 
in  the  Casentino,  or  elsewhere,  after  the  supposed  date  of 
his  vision. 

No  two  readers  come  to  Dante  with  just  the  same  eyes ; 
and  when  the  readers  are  of  different  nations  the  chance 
that  one  will  see  what  the  other  might  miss  is  at  least 
doubled.  For  this  reason  alone  an  attempt  like  this  of 
Dr.  Federn's  would  deserve  a  welcome  ;  but  I  hope  that  I 
have  said  enough  to  show  that  its  claims  to  our  considera- 
tion are  based  on  something  more  than  the  mere  ad- 
vantage to  be  derived  from  the  comparison  of  various 
points  of  view.  It  has  substantive  merits  of  its  own ;  and 
no  English  student  of  Dante  will  regret  having  given  it 
his  hospitality. 

ARTHUR  JOHN  BUTLER. 
April  IQ02. 


PREFACE 

In  the  "Deutsche  Rundschau"  Hermann  Grimm  has 
elaborated  the  thought  that  only  four  poets  belong  truly 
to  the  literature  of  the  world  :  Homer,  Dante,  Shake- 
speare, and  Goethe.  Of  these  Dante,  though  standing 
nearer  to  us  than  Homer  by  twenty  centuries,  is  the 
least  known.  Nor  is  this  to  be  wondered  at.  He  him- 
self, in  the  second  canto  of  the  Paradise,  warned  the 
readers  of  his  own  time,  who  were  not  fully  equipped  up 
to  his  level,  with  the  words : 

O  ye  who  follow  me  in  little  boat 

On  this  my  voyage,  eager  still  to  hear, 
Behind  my  ship  that  sings  as  she  doth  float, 

Turn  now  and  look  where  yet  your  shores  appear  ; 
Into  the  wide  sea  put  not  out,  lest  ye, 

Losing  me,  should  have  nought  whereby  to  steer. 
Where  my  course  lies,  none  yet  has  roamed  the  sea! 

To  us  his  work  is  the  most  mysterious  of  a  time  that 
loved  mystery.  It  is  founded  on  ideas  and  conceptions 
of  the  world  which  for  the  most  part  have  vanished 
completely  from  the  life  of  modern  men.  All  the  many 
allusions  to  contemporary  events,  all  the  innumerable 
names,  which  made  the  book  appear  richer  and  livelier 
to  the  mediaeval  reader,  are  for  us,  who  do  not  know  the 


XVI 


PREFACE 


names  nor  understand  the  allusions,  so  many  obstacles  and 
dead  passages,  which  weigh  upon  and  disturb  the  reader  ; 
while  a  commentary  is  deterrent. 

"  In  Dante's  poem,"  said  Carlyle,  "ten  silent  Christian 
centuries  have  found  a  voice."  One  must  know  these 
centuries  in  order  to  understand  the  poem.  Dante  is  the 
Poet  of  the  Middle  Ages.  But  the  latest  flowers  and  the 
ripest  fruits  betoken  the  rise  of  a  new  generation  ;  Dante 
is  also  the  poet  of  the  early  Renaissance.  We  must 
know  the  remarkable  men  of  this  remarkable  time,  one 
must  know  what  occupied  them,  how  they  looked  upon 
the  world  and  lived  in  it,  what  were  their  aims  and  what 
ways  they  took  to  carry  them  out,  what  they  thought  and 
believed,  learned  and  taught,  what  seemed  of  importance 
to  them  in  their  lives ;  what  happened  in  their  world ; 
its  movements,  its  great  struggles,  its  petty  interests. 

We  should  know  their  towns,  their  houses  and  streets, 
the  garments  they  wore,  should  know  how  they  slept  and 
what  they  ate,  how  they  solemnised  wedding  and  funerals. 
We  must  follow  them  to  their  halls  and  assemblies,  to 
the  churches,  where  they  worshipped  with  their  fellows, 
to  the  cells,  whither  they  fled  from  the  world. 

In  the  following  book  I  have  tried  to  give  briefly  a  few 
lifelike  pictures  of  all  this ;  pictures  which  I  drew  from 
my  studies  of  Dante,  especially  from  the  documents  of  his 
own  time,  its  chronicles,  poems,  and  images — pictures 
which  1  saw  as  I  read  Dante. 

These  I  have  tried  to  give  as  concisely  as  possible. 
To  the  reader  who  knows  them,  the  things  which  occu- 
pied Dante  will  appear  matters  of  course,  and  even  if  he 
should  miss  a  name  or  not  know  an  event  alluded  to  in 
his  works,  he  will  conceive  the  meaning  as  well  as  we 
understand  allusions  in  our  daily  papers  and  books  to 


PREFACE  x™ 

events  and  matters  foreign  to  us,  from  their  connection 
with  the  world  that  we  know. 

The  second  part  of  my  book  follows  Dante's  path 
through  that  dim  and  distant  world  which  to  us  is  but 
half-illuminated — the  path  of  his  life,  which  is  the  road  to 
his  works.  In  this  manner  the  second  part  will  be  a 
subjective  reflection  of  the  first. 

My  object  has  not  been  to  give  the  fruits  of  original 
research  or  critical  discussions  of  doubtful  matters. 
Especially  in  the  first  part  I  have  mostly  worked  out  the 
results  of  other  people's  investigation.  Yet  I  hope  to 
have  given  some  new  points  of  view.  I  wish  to  express 
my  debt  to  Dr.  Robert  Davidsohn  of  Florence,  who  had 
the  kindness  to  revise  a  portion  of  my  book  and  to 
give  me  some  valuable  data  out  of  his  new  investi- 
gations of  Florentine  history ;  I  am  likewise  indebted 
to  Lieut.-Col.  Paul  Pochhammer  of  Berlin  for  kindly 
revising  other  parts  of  the  book,  and  I  wish  to  express 
my  thanks  to  the  English  friends  who  have  assisted 
me  in  the  translation  of  this  edition. 

My  work  will  not  lead  into  the  last  depths  of  the  poet 
and  will  but  indicate  his  riches.  Though  whole  libraries 
could  be  filled  with  the  books  written  on  him,  they  have 
not  exhausted  his  abundance.  All  the  treasures  of  beauty 
and  the  most  wonderful  of  his  mysteries  the  reader  must 
look  for  in  Dante's  own  work.  Inadequate  translations 
have  been  a  greater  obstacle  to  this  than  the  enigmas  of 
the  poem.  Much  more  than  ponderous  commentaries, 
the  stiff  structure  of  our  translations  has  kept  Dante  a 
stranger  to  us.  Beauty  of  sound  and  the  power  of  feeling 
conquer  the  reader,  and  mysteries  and  scholasticism  are 
borne  forward  on  the  music  of  the  verse.  But  no  trans- 
lation will  ever  do  justice  to  Dante's  works.    Dante  himself 


xviii  PREFACE 

says  in  the  "  Banquet "  :  "  Therefore  let  everybody  know, 
that  nothing  that  is  brought  (or  made)  to  harmonise  irt 
the  musical  bonds  of  verse  can  be  translated  out  of  one 
language  into  another  without  all  its  harmony  and  sweet- 
ness being  broken."  And  Shelley  wrote  five  hundred 
years  later  in  his  "  Defence  of  Poetry " :  "  It  were  as 
wise  to  cast  a  violet  into  a  crucible  that  you  might 
discover  the  formal  principle  of  its  colour  and  odour  as 
seek  to  transfuse  from  one  language  into  another  the  ora- 
tions of  a  poet.  The  plant  must  spring  again  from  its 
seed,  or  it  will  bear  no  flower — and  this  is  the  burthen 
of  the  curse  of  Babel." 


CONTENTS 

PART  I 
THE  TIME 

CHAP.  PAGE 

I.  The  Destruction  of  the  Antique!;        ...  3 

^11.  The  New  Moral  Ideal 10 

fSllt,  The  Political  Ideal         .        .        .        .        .        .22 

IV.  The  Combat  between  Church  and  State    .        .  30 

V.  The  Hohenstaufen 41 

^    VI.  Social  Conditions 58 

VII.  Mediaeval  Knowledge 74 

VIII.  Scholasticism 92 

IX.  The  Universities 108 

X.  The  Provencals         .        .        .        .        .        .        .114 

XI.  Italian  Poetry 126 

XII.  The  Franciscans 136 

XIII.  Florence 153 


xx  CONTENTS 


PART   II 


DANTE 

CHAP.  PAGE 

I.  The  Work  of  Dante 179 

II.  Dante's  Youth 195 

III.  Beatrice 204 

IV.  Dante  and  Florence 232 

V.  Dante  in  Exile  .        . 250 

VI.  The  "Divine  Comedy" 265 


ILLUSTRATIONS 


Portrait  by  Giotto— from  the  fresco  in  the  Bargello,  Florence. 
Drawing  by  Seymour  Kirkup,  made  before  the  Restoration 
in  1848,  reproduced  by  permission  of  G.  Grote's   Verlag, 

Berlin Frontispiece 

Portrait  by  Andrea  Orcagna—from  "The  Last  Judgment" 
fresco  in  the  Capella  Strozzi  in  the  Church  of  Sta.  Maria 
Novella,  Florence,  executed  about  the  year  1350  ;  this  por- 
trait was  discovered  by  Mr.  Jaques  Mesnil  in  1901,  and 
is  reproduced  from  a  photograph  by  Brogi  .        .  To  face  page      70 

Portrait  by  Andrea  del  Castagno—from  the  fresco  in  the  Convent 
of  Sta.  Apollonia,  Florence,  executed  about  1450,  reproduced 
from  a  photograph  by  Alinari     .        .        .        .To  face  page     142 

Bronze  by  unknown  artist,  probably  of  the  Sixteenth  Century — 
Original  in  the  Museum  at  Naples,  reproduced  from  a 
photograph  by  Brogi To  face  page    212 

Mask,  in  the  Uffizi,  Florence,  reproduced  from  a  photograph  by 

Brogi To  face  page      280 


PART  I 
THE    TIME 


CHAPTER    I 

THE  DESTRUCTION  OF  THE  ANTIQUE 

The  period  of  history  which  is  called  the  Middle  Ages 
opens  with  the  spread  of  Christendom,  the  decay  of  the 
Roman  Empire,  and  the  entrance  of  the  German  race  on 
the  scene  of  history.       • 

These  three  elements,  different  in  their  origin,  but  inter- 
woven in  their  course  and  connected  in  their  effects,  filled 
the  time  from  the  fourth  to  the  ninth  century.  The 
German  tribes  conquered  one  province  of  the  empire  after 
the  other  and  Germanised  them  to  a  certain  extent ;  they 
formed  the  stock  of  their  aristocracy — in  almost  all  lands 
of  Europe  the  oldest  families  have  German  names — they 
brought  with  them  a  new  political  system,  the  feudal 
system,  and  on  the  remnants  of  the  old  empire  of  the 
Romans  arose  the  feudal  states  of  Europe.  Secondly,  the 
old  empire  as  well  as  the  new  kingdoms  was  permeated 
and  deeply  influenced  by  the  Christian  religion,  which 
changed  the  inward,  life  of  men  and  things  as  thoroughly 
as  the  German  conquest  changed  their  outward  state.  At 
the  same  time  the  new  religion,  born  on  oriental  soil  and 
founded  on  oriental  ideas,  underwent  in  its  turn  a 
thorough  transformation  when  planted  in  the  soil  of  a  new 
race. 

And  in  the  midst  of  all  these  tremendous  revolutions, 


4  DANTE  AND   HIS  TIME 

which  changed  the  face  of  the  earth,  the  remnants  of  the 
old  empire,  the  remnants  of  antique  civilisation  and  of 
the  Latin  race  continued  to  exist,  and  never  ceased  to 
have  a  powerful  influence  on  the  minds  and  customs  of 
men. 

But  weightier  almost  in  its  consequences  than  the  fact 
itself  was  the  form  in  which  the  diffusion  of  the  Germans 
took  place.  From  the  middle  of  the  fourth  until  the  eighth 
century  the  empire  was  exposed  to  an  unceasing  stream 
of  German  invasions,  and  each  of  them  brought  fire  and 
devastation  and  horrible  cruelty  into  the  invaded  country. 
These  wild  warriors,  to  whom  °  death  on  the  straw " 
seemed  the  most  shameful  end  for  a  man,  who,  if  they 
could  not  fall  in  battle,  cut  "  runes  "  into  their  own  neck 
and  breast,  and  expired  singing  songs  of  joy  and  triumph, 
while  their  blood  streamed  down  their  bodies,  were,  of 
course,  wholly  insensible  to  the  pains  of  others.  The 
Franks  especially  were  cruel  and  brutal  to  a  degree  which 
is  impossible  to  describe.  More  terrible  yet  were  the 
Huns,  whom  the  Germans  themselves  believed  to  be 
children  of  evil  spirits  and  unclean  women.  These  cen- 
turies, which  for  the  middle  and  the  north  of  Europe  were 
the  fermentation  and  first  dawn  of  a  new  era,  were  for  the 
populations  of  the  civilised  old  countries  a  prolonged 
death-torment.  There  had  been  misery  enough  in  the 
social  state  of  the  empire,  everywhere  the  people  were 
impoverished,  the  extortion  of  taxes  had  to  be  performed 
by  ever  more  cunning  methods,  want  and  famine  were 
such,  that  in  most  provinces  it  was  a  common  thing  to 
expose  a  great  number  of  the  new-born  children.  Now 
the  misery  was  enhanced  by  direct  physical  torture  at  the 
hands  of  savages,  acute  suffering  aggravating  the  chronic 
pain ;  and  the  continual  devastation,  the  murderous  wars, 


r 


THE  DESTRUCTION  OF  THE  ANTIQUE  5 

the  custom  of  torturing  prisoners,  which,  in  spite  of  the 
opposition  of  Christian  teachers,  continued  until  the  latest , 
times  of  the  Middle  Ages— in  the  east  of  Europe  even 
until  the  seventeenth  and  eighteenth  centuries — all  this  had 
the  effect  that  never  and  nowhere  was  suicide  so  frequent 
as  in  the  decaying  Roman  Empire.  All  the  letters  of  the 
Fathers  of  the  Church,  all  the  histories  of  the  time  are 
full  of  misery.  Woefully  characteristic  is  the  expression 
of  a  bishop  in  Gaul,  who  tells  how  the  citizens  of  the 
towns  still  continued  to  amuse  themselves  and  laugh  and 
applaud  in  the  circus  and  in  the  theatres,  and  who  writes  : 
M  It  is  as  if  the  Roman  people  had  eaten  the  herbs  of 
Sardinia,  and  were  forced  to  break  out  into  a  disease  of 
laughter — *  moritur  et  ridet  ! '     It  laughs  and  dies." 

We  need  only  consider  how  much  culture  was  destroyed 
and  lost ;  we  need  but  recall  to  our  mind  the  magnificence 
of  Imperial  Rome,  the  city  which  contained  more  public 
works  of  art  than  all  great  capitals  of  the  world  together 
contain  to-day,  and  in  which  there  stood  two  thousand 
palaces  and  four  thousand  monuments  of  great  Romans 
alone,  and  compare  it  with  the  heap  of  ruins  which  was 
left  of  it  in  the  Middle  Ages,  At  the  time  of  Trajan, 
Rome  had  a  million  and  a  half  of  inhabitants,  in  the  fifth 
century  half  a  million,  after  the  Gothic  wars  five  thousand 
— and  as  if  history  wanted  to  point  at  the  dreary  chasm 
which  separated  the  new  time  of  Italy  from  the  old — in. 
the  year  546,  when  Totila,  the  King  of  the  Goths,  left  it, 
Rome  stood  for  forty  days  perfectly  deserted  and  void ! 

The  Germans  had  hardly  begun  to  settle  when  Mohamme- 
danism began  to  spread,  and  the  inroads  of  the  Saracens 
destroyed  what  had  scarce  begun  to  recover.  Italy  was 
more  exposed  to  them  than  any  other  country.  In  the 
year  846,  at  the  time  of  Pope  Sergius  II.,  they  sacked  the 


6  DANTE  AND   HIS   TIME 

treasures  of  St.  Peter  and  Paul.  To  this  day  may  be  seen 
in  Italy,  especially  in  the  south,  the  remnants  of  the 
castles  and  watch-towers  which  were  erected  against  them 
everywhere  along  the  coast. 

From  the  north  the  Norman  pirates  rushed  in,  on  the 
Seine  they  went  up  as  far  as  Paris,  their  Viking-ships 
sailed  through  the  Straits  of  Gibraltar  and  plundered  the 
Italian  shore.  From  the  east  the  Magyars  rode  far  into 
France  and  Upper  Italy.  At  first  the  peoples  had  nothing 
to  oppose  to  them  but  despair ;  even  the  Germans  seemed 
to  have  lost  their  warlike  spirit ;  "  coupled  together  like 
beasts,"  the  chronicler  tells,  M  those  who  were  not  killed 
were  driven  away."  Thus  the  devastation  went  on 
unceasingly  from  the  end  of  the  third  to  the  middle  of  the 
tenth  century.  Who  may  count  the  number  of  burned 
cities,  of  destroyed  convents  and  libraries  ?  Only  this 
destruction  of  seven  hundred  years  can  explain  the  utter 
savageness  of  the  Middle  Ages  on  the  very  soil  of  antique 
glory. 

We  need  but  think  of  what  had  existed  before  and 
what  remained.  Of  all  the  rich  Greek  literature  almost 
nothing  was  left.  Of  the  hundred  dramas  of  Sophocles, 
but  seven  have  come  down  to  our  time ;  of  the  seventy 
tragedies  of  Aeschylos  we  have  also  but  seven  ;  of  the 
lyric  poets  we  have  but  poor  fragments,  single  verses, 
almost  no  whole  poem.  Of  the  numberless  great  phi- 
losophers, the  works  of  two  only  have  been  preserved  in 
a  more  or  less  complete  state ;  of  the  immense  scientific 
literature,  almost  nothing  has  reached  us ;  of  the  many 
historians,  perhaps  half  a  dozen  ;  of  Greek  painting,  almost 
nothing  ;  of  architecture  and  sculpture,  the  poor  shattered 
remnants  which  still  are  the  chief  glory  of  our  galleries. 
And  yet  these  remnants,  these  hints  of  what  had  been. 


THE  DESTRUCTION  OF  THE  ANTIQUE  7 

regenerated  Europe  in  the  fourteenth  century,  give  us  half 
of  our  culture  to-day;  thousands  of  people  in  every 
country  not  only  owe  to  them  the  best  part  of  their  educa- 
tion, but  earn  their  living  by  studying  them  and  impart- 
ing their  knowledge  to  others.  We  may  gather  from  the 
vital  force  of  these  remnants  how  abundant  and  glorious 
must  have  been  the  full  treasures  of  antiquity.  One  may 
well  shudder  at  the  thought  of  such  an  immense  destruc- 
tion, and  understand  that  there  are  people  who  tremble 
for  our  own  civilisation,  and  who  say  :  u  Nothing  is  so 
swift  as  decay." 

Let  us  once  more  glance  backwards  at  Imperial  Rome. 
Statistical  tables  of  the  fourth  and  fifth  centuries  tell  us 
that  in  Rome  were  423  temples,  154  images  of  the  gods, 
made  of  gold  and  ivory,  2  colossal  statues,  22  great 
equestrian  statues,  3785  monuments  of  emperors  and 
great  Romans,  1352  fountains  and  basins,  all  works  of 
art;  of  theatres,  the  largest  had  22,888  seats,  while  the 
Circus  Maximus  had  385,000  seats.  It  may  give  some 
idea  of  these  dimensions  to  the  reader  when  I  say,  that 
in  this  circus  the  whole  population  of  Bristol  could  sit  to 
the  last  infant,  and  then  there  would  be  still  room  for 
free  entry  for  all  the  inhabitants  of  Great  Yarmouth  !  We 
can  but  dimly  conceive  what  an  immense  quantity  of 
works  of  art  the  2000  palaces  of  Rome  contained.  But 
one  point  is  essential ;  in  ancient  Rome  there  were  867 
public  bath-houses  —  Modern  Vienna,  the  capital  of 
Austria,  has  but  57.  If  the  use  of  soap  and  water  is  a 
sign  of  civilisation,  how  far  beneath  the  old  Romans  are 
we  Europeans  of  to-day  ! 

In  the  time  when  those  tables  were  drawn  up,  all  this 
was  but  the  fossilised  and  dilapidated  integument  of  the 
antique  life  of  yore  ;  but  one  or  two  centuries  earlier  the 


8  DANTE  AND   HIS   TIME 

pulse  of  life  which  had  created  all  this  was  still  beating, 
and  all  the  shores  of  the  Mediterranean  Sea,  Italy,  Spain, 
Greece,  Gaul,  Asia  Minor,  Egypt,  and  Syria,  all  the 
empire  from  Portugal  to  the  Black  Sea,  were  covered  with 
gleaming  white  cities,  which,  if  not  equal  to  Rome,  still 
were  all  resplendent  of  antique  art,  cities  some  of  which 
had  half  a  million  of  inhabitants,  trade  and  manufacture 
flourishing  in  all,  art  and  science  cultivated  everywhere, 
with  numerous  universities,  and  houses  full  of  comfort 
and  adorned  by  an  art  which  ours,  in  spite  of  all  our 
improvement  in  appliances,  has  not  surpassed. 

Of  course  much  could  be  said  against/ that  culture,  much 
could  be  said  of  its  inward  rottenness  and  decay — of  its 
being  founded  on  slavery  and  cruel  exploitation — but  here 
I  speak  of  what  was  performed. 

And  now  let  us  turn  our  eyes  to  a  mediaeval  city.  We 
must  not  think  of  its  picturesque  aspect.  .  Disorder  often 
looks  more  picturesque  than  order,  and,  compared  with 
the  bad  taste  of  our  present  architecture,  mediaeval  build- 
ings may  be  regarded  as  a  romantic  ideal.  But  if  we 
speak  of  the  state  of  life  and  civilisation  in  those  cities, 
we  can  but  consider  the  contrast  to  the  antique  time  when 
they  knew  how  to  unite  beauty  with  perfect  usefulness. 
The  first  thing  which  would  strike  us  would  be  the  in- 
credible dirt.  u  Le  moyen  age,"  Taine  says,  "  a  vecu  sur 
un  fumier."*  No  pavement,  deepest  mire,  no  sewage, 
all  filth  thrown  into  the  streets — the  consequence  was  an 
incessant  stench  pervading  all  things.  The  windows  were 
small  and  few  as  possible,  the  rooms  dark,  the  floors 
covered  mostly  with  straw,  the  furniture  scanty  and  badly 

*  That  is  a  peculiarity  on  which  the  tales  of  chivalry  do  not  like  to 
dwell.  Nobody  can  get  a  true  notion  of  those  times  out  of  novels  like 
those  of  Walter  Scott — they  are  all  painted  theatre  costumes.     The 


THE  DESTRUCTION  OF  THE  ANTIQUE    9 

shaped.  Add  to  this  the  ugly  attire  which  resembled 
sacks,  the  dirtiness  of  the  inhabitants  themselves,  and 
more  than  this,  their  brutality  and  ignorance,  and  the 
perfect  inability  to  imitate  any  natural  form.  The  existing 
remnants  of  art  of  the  first  centuries  of  our  era  are 
clumsier  and  more  unnatural  than  the  stiff  forms  of 
Egyptian  or  Assyrian  art.  The  limitless  deterioration  is 
plainly  visible. 

Slaughter  and  devastation  had  swept  away  the  ancient 
civilisation,  and  men  began  with  toil  and  pain  to  render 
our  planet  again  habitable. 

dirtiness  of  those  proud  knights  would  be  unbearable  to  us.  Ivanhoe, 
Marmion,  Douglas,  and  Graeme  all  objected  to  washing.  There  is  a 
Spanish  love-song,  in  which  the  knight  sings : 

You  are  more  white,  my  mistress, 

Than  the  purest  ray  of  sun, 

But  seven  years  have  passed,  yea  seven, 

Since  I  last  put  down  my  arms, 

My  body's  become  blacker 

Than  the  blackest  coal. 

As  late  as  the  sixteenth  century  Queen  Marguerite  of  Navarre,  the 
celebrated  story-teller,  showed  her  hands  in  the  Tuileries,  to  prove  how 
beautiful  they  were,  and  added  proudly,  "  Bien  que  je  ne  les  aie 
decrassees  depuis  huit  jours. " 


CHAPTER   II 

THE  NEW  MORAL  IDEAL 

These  are  the  results  of  the  great  and  terrible  movement 
in  outward  life.  The  inner  life  of  mediaeval  men  was 
dominated  and  impregnated  by  the  Christian  religion, 
whose  effects  on  the  culture  of  the  epoch  were  more 
important  than  that  of  any  other  influence.  In  religious 
times  and  books  the  rise  of  Christendom,  its  appearance 
in  the  world,  is  defined  as  the  central  event  in  the  history 
of  civilisation.  But  while  it  is  clear  that  an  orthodox 
person  must  see  the  culminating-point  of  history,  as 
regards  religion,  in  the  appearance  and  the  spreading  of 
the  true  faith,  the  historian's  task  is  to  investigate  impar- 
tially the  effects  which  this  great  event  had  on  the  life 
and  customs  of  men.  Religious  people  will  see  simply  an 
immense  advance  from  antiquity.  This  opinion,  of  course, 
was  the  ruling  one  in  the  Middle  Ages.  Virgil,  the  repre- 
sentative of  antique  wisdom,  can  lead  Dante  only  through 
two  realms;  the  third  and  highest,  that  of  Heaven,  is 
closed  to  him.  The  men  of  antiquity  were  all  lost  and 
doomed  to  Hell,  the  men  of  the  new  era  were  Christians, 
that  is  to  say,  redeemed.  The  opinion  of  Abelard,  who 
asserted  that  virtuous  heathens,  and  especially  a  great 
number  of  philosophers,  were  admitted  to  eternal  bliss, 
found  no  followers.     There  was  but  one  man  of  antique 


THE   NEW   MORAL   IDEAL  n 

times  who  was  saved — the  Emperor  Trajan,  who,  so  the 
legend  tells,  was  freed  from  the  fire  of  Hell  not  through 
his  own  merit,  but  by  the  prayer  of  Pope  Gregory  the 
Great.*     In   the   times    of    enlightenment,    in   times   of 

*  Dante,  therefore,  finds  him  in  the  sixth  heaven  among  the  virtuous 
rulers,  and  the  celestial  Eagle  explains  this  fact  as  follows  : 

The  first  life  and  the  fifth,  that  have  their  home 

Within  my  brow,  amaze  thee,  in  that  they 
Adorn  the  regions  where  the  angels  roam  ; 

Not  as  thou  deemst  they  left  their  mortal  clay, 

Heathens,  but  Christians,  strong  in  faith  to  see, 

Or  the  pierc'd  feet,  or  else  the  pierc'd  feet's  day 

p 
Beheld  far  off ;  for  one  from  Hell,  where  free 

Path  to  good- will  is  none,  with  flesh  was  clad, 

That  so  of  lively  hope  reward  might  be  ; 

Of  lively  hope,  which  put  forth  prayer  that  had 

Power  to  obtain  that  God  his  soul  would  raise, 
So  that  his  will  might  turn  to  good  from  bad. 

The  glorious  soul  of  whom  I  tell  the  praise, 

Returning  to  his  flesh  for  briefest  hour, 
Believed  in  him  who  could  direct  his  ways, 

And  so  believing,  glowed  with  fiery  power 

Of  love  so  true,  that  when  he  died  once  more 
He  was  thought  worthy  of  this  blissful  bower. 

Thomas  Aquinas  says  :  "As  to  the  case  of  Trajan,  one  may  accept 
the  supposition  that  he  was  recalled  to  life  by  the  prayers  of  St.  Gre- 
gory and  thus  attained  grace,  through  which  he  gained  the  remission  of 
his  sins  and  in  consequence  the  freedom  from  punishment  .  .  .  yet 
others  would  rather  say  that  the  soul  of  Trajan  was  not  simply  absolved 
from  the  guilt  which  must  be  followed  by  eternal  punishment,  but  that 
his  punishment  was  only  temporarily  suspended,  that  is,  until  the 
Judgment  Day." 

The  other  person  of  whom  Dante  speaks  in  those  verses  is  the  Trajan 
Rhipeus;  but  he  was  one  of  the  "  pre-Christians."  Thomas  Aquinas 
explains  this  as  follows :  "  To  many  heathens  a  revelation  of  Christ 
was  given,  and  if  some  were  saved  to  whom  the  revelation  had  not  been 
given,  yet  those  were  not  saved  without  belief  in  the  Divine  Mediator, 
for  if  they  had  not  an  explicit  belief  they  had  an  indefinite  implicit 


12  DANTE   AND   HIS  TIME 

materialism,  the  civilising  effects  of  Christendom  have 
been  as  unjustly  underrated.  The  same  may  be  said  of 
some  enthusiastic  admirers  of  the  Ideals  of  the  Renais- 
sance from  Beccadelli  to  Friedrich  Nietzsche. 

The  expansion  of  Christendom  continued  from  the  first 
century  of  its  existence  throughout  the  whole  Middle 
Ages.  But,  if  we  limit  ourselves  to  the  territory  of 
antique  Paganism,  we  may  roughly  assign  a.d.  529  as 
the  turning-point.  In  that  year  the  last  temple  of  Apollo 
in  Italy  was  destroyed  by  St.  Benedict,  and  the  last  seven 
masters  of  antique  philosophy  in  Athens  were  expelled 
by  the  Emperor  Justinian  and  fled  to  the  Persian  king 
Chosru.  These  two  signal  events  may  induce  us  to 
choose  that  year  as  the  point  at  which  the  conquest  of 
the  ancient  empire  was  completed  and  Paganism  finally 
abolished. 

With  the  Christian  religion  new  moral  opinions  began 
to  prevail,  which  were  wholly  different  from  the  ancient, 
as  much  from  those  of  the  civilised  Greeks  and  Romans, 
as  from  those  of  the  wild  German  and  Celtic  tribes,  and 
which  would  alone  have  been  sufficient  to  effect  a  thorough 
change  in  the  state  of  European  civilisation.  Life  and 
the  world  were  considered  in  a  new  light.  Life,  for  the 
confessors  of  the  new  creed,  had  a  new  purpose  and  a 
new  meaning.  Their  morals,  their  virtues,  their  crimes, 
their  duties,  their  relations  to  God  and  man,  their  ideals 
as  well  as  their  customs,  were  different. 

Now  it  is  clear  that  men,  who  condemn  deeds  which 
are  considered  heroic  and  praiseworthy  by  others,  who 

belief  in  Divine  providence  ;  by  believing  that  God  was  the  Saviour  of 
men,  and  would  save  them  by  ways  which  would  best  please  Him,  and 
according  to  what  the  Spirit  had  revealed  to  some  who  could  see  the 
truth." 


THE   NEW   MORAL  IDEAL  13 

sanction  a  conduct  as  heavenly  which  by  others  is  con- 
sidered weak  and  abject,  who  hold  things  forbidden 
which  by  others  are  believed  to  be  just  and  lawful,  who 
follow  aims  which  to  others  appear  ridiculous,  must 
needs  lead  essentially  different  lives.  Nobody,  therefore, 
exercises  such  powerful  influence  on  men  as  he  who  is 
able  to  change  their  opinion  as  to  their  task  and  aim  in 
life  and  the  worth  of  their  established  institutions. 

The  two  social  principles  of  Christendom,  the  doctrine" 
of  love,  of  unconditional  universal  love,  and  the  doctrine 
of  equality,  did  more,  perhaps,  for  the  moral  development 
of  mankind,  and  produced  more  noble  and  gentle  deeds, 
than  any  other  element  in  human  history.  We  generally 
forget  the  hard  and  frightful  cruelty  of  the  ancient  races 
when  we  admire  the  splendour  of  their  feats  and  accom- 
plishments. The  Christian  doctrine  of  equality  was  not 
based  on  political  democratic  reasons,  but  on  the  dogma 
that  there  exists  an  immortal  soul  in  every  man,  be  he 
nobleman  or  slave,  and  that  this  soul  was  to  be  saved, 
and  could  be  well-pleasing  to  a  Lord  before  whose 
eternal  glory  every  earthly  difference  of  rank  and  birth 
must  vanish,  before  whose  throne  the  slave  could  be 
welcomed  and  the  Senator  and  Consul  hurled  into  dark- 
ness. The  soul  made  the  Roman  patrician  equal  to  the 
negro  slave,  a  notion  which  would  have  seemed  absurd  to 
a  true  Roman.  While  it  must  be  conceded  that  these 
two  doctrines  may  exist  and  prevail  independently  of 
Christian  religion,  it  remains  true,  nevertheless,  that 
Christianity  did  most  to  propagate  them  and  give  them 
the  power  which  they  obtained  in  modern  democracy. 

It  is  true  that  these  principles,  that  of  love  as  well  as 
that  of  equality,  were  continually  disregarded  and  violated 
in   the  Middle  Ages,  and  not  the   least  by  the  Church 


i4  DANTE   AND   HIS  TIME 

herself ;  but  then  the  explanation  of  this  lies  in  the  fact 
that  the  wild  and  brutal  men  of  those  times  were  wholly 
incapable  of  fully  understanding  these  doctrines,  and 
much  less  of  practising  them  in  earnest.  A  second 
reason  is  obvious.  As  long  as  Christians  were  a  little 
persecuted  sect,  only  the  purest  and  holiest  belief  could 
move  men  to  accept  baptism  and  to  fulfil  all  the  difficult 
duties,  to  run  all  the  dangers,  which  they  well  knew  to  be 
the  consequence.  But  when  the  doctrine  of  Christ  became 
the  accepted  religion  of  the  Empire  and  of  the  Court,  when 
it  no  longer  brought  dangers  but  preferments  and  digni- 
ties, when  it  became  the  first  s^ep  the  ambitious  had  to 
take,  when  the  whole  crowd  of  indifferent  and  low-minded 
people  became  Christians — how  could  the  purity  of  the 
early  times  be  preserved  ?  How  could  it  be  attained 
when  the  wild  German  warriors,  in  whose  souls  the 
ferocious  warlike  spirit  of  the  race  fought  fiercely  with  the 
new  doctrine,  accepted  it  ?  Their  whole  life  became  a 
continual  convulsion,  a  constant  wavering  now  to  this 
side,  now  to  the  other,  and  of  the  same  men  the  most 
frightful  cruelties  are  reported,  as  well  as  moments  of 
devoted  ardour  and  meekest  humility. 

There  is  no  more  expressive  episode  in  mediaeval 
history,  none  that  could  be  more  characteristic  of  those 
wild  Christian  warriors  than  that,  after  the  capture  of 
Jerusalem,  they  killed  every  living  person  there,  men, 
women,  and  children,  and  then,  literally  covered  with 
blood,  prostrated  themselves  at  the  Saviour's  Tomb  and 
kissed  it  with  glowing  religious  ardour  and  devout  humility ! 
But  this  savagery  lay  in  the  character  of  the  race,  not  in 
their  religion.  As  late  as  the  sixteenth  century  it  was 
the  baptismal  custom  in  Ireland  to  immerse  new-born 
children  entirely  in  water,  leaving  only  the  right  arm  out, 


THE   NEW  MORAL  IDEAL  15 

that  it  might  remain  pagan  and  able  to  deal  blows  un- 
fettered by  Christianity. 

On  the  other  hand,  the  most  uncompromising  of  the 
Christians,  Tertullian,  the  Montanists  and  other  sects, 
carried  their  principles  to  the  logical  conclusion,  and 
utterly  condemned  warfare  and  fighting,  which  was  but 
consistent. 

And,  finally,  as  the  rich  young  man  in  the  Gospel  found 
the  words  of  Christ  too  hard  to  follow,  so  men  always 
found  them  :  Church  and  State  contented  themselves, 
then  as  well  as  now,  with  the  forms,  which  are  so  much 
easier  to  adopt  and  to  shqw  than  the  spirit. 

This  was  one  side  of  the  new  religion.  Another  was 
the  total  change  in  moral  ideals.  The  moral  ideals  of  the 
ancients  were  :  personal  greatness,  dignity,  self-confidence, 
magnanimity,  invincible  firmness  in  every  act.  The 
Christians  praised  the  very  contrary :  humility,  obedience, 
self-sacrifice.  Of  course  there  were  but  few  persons  who 
really  practised  these  virtues,  distasteful  as  they  were  to 
the  character  of  the  race,  but  there  were  others  who 
Exaggerated  and  distorted  them  to  an  unnatural  degree. 

Antiquity  saw  everything  in  this  present  life,  found  all 
its  ideals  in  beauty  and  sublimity  on  earth;  it  praised 
pleasure,  as  long  as  it  was  not  immoderate,  all  its  culture 
was  joyful  and  sensual,  therefore  it  was  artistic  in  an 
eminent  degree.  I  do  not  speak  now  of  all  the  frightful 
degeneration.  There  can  be  no  doubt  about  the  corrup- 
tion of  the  latter  times  of  antiquity  and  about  the  neces- 
sity of  a  moral  reorganisation.  Here  I  only  speak  of  its 
performance  and  of  its  ideal.  Ancient  teachers  praised  a 
joyful  and  creative  life — active  life  was  their  field — the 
shadowy  life  which  was  to  come  after  it  was  an  eternity 
of  regret  and  sorrow.    The  new  doctrine,  on  the  contrary, 


: 


16  DANTE  AND  HIS  TIME 

saw  in  the  life  on  earth  only  a  short  and  passing  state  of 
preparation  for  the  future  life,  which  was  to  be  the 
essential  part  of  existence,  and  it  exhorted  all  men  to 
resign  themselves  and  to  turn  from  life.  The  world  was 
a  vale  of  tears,  life  a  dreary  waste  of  misery  and  heavy 
trials.  The  frightful  state  of  the  world  did  much  to 
develop  such  views;  the  earth  in  those  centuries  was 
indeed  a  vale  of  tears,  and  as  soon  as  the  condition  of 
men  grew  more  pleasant,  as  soon  as  men  could  again 
begin  to  enjoy  their  existence,  those  ideas  lost  their 
power. 

Such  views  were  corroborated  by  the  doctrine  of 
original  sin.  This  gloomy  conception  of  humanity,  foreign 
to  the  European  genius  and  bearing  the  mark  of  its 
riental  birth,  was  developed  chiefly  by  Augustine  and 
weighed  heavily  on  the  souls  of  men.  It  caused  men  to 
regard  nature  and  the  human  body  as  things  unclean  in 
themselves  and  sinful  by  their  very  existence ;  it  gave  a 
new  tendency  to  morals,  new  restraints  to  human  life, 
and,  exaggerated  and  distorted  by  fanatic  monks,  it  pro- 
duced a  series  of  strange  moral  phenomena,  and  led, 
particularly  in  the  field  of  sexual  life,  to  consequences 
which  were  hardly  less  pernicious  and  immoral  than  the 
licence  of  decaying  antiquity. 

Men  in  those  times  led  lives  of  trembling  anxiety,  now 
carried  away  by  powerful  passions  into  horrible  crime, 
and  again  tortured  by  fearful  pangs  of  remorse.  Earthly 
life  being  so  thoroughly  sinful  and  the  continual  danger 
of  losing  the  eternal  so  imminent,  it  necessarily  seemed 
best  to  dedicate  it  wholly  to  penitence ;  for  even  those 
who  should  attain  the  impossible  and  be  perfectly  virtuous, 
even  they  had  gained  but  little,  for  they  had  enough  to 
bear  in  their  inheritance  of  original  sin.     This  led  to  the 


THE   NEW   MORAL  IDEAL  ,7 

institution  of  monasteries  and  of  hermit  life. '  Men  broke 
and  abjured  all  human  ties,  castigated  themselves  in  the 
most  unnatural  way,  now  seeing  in  feverish  dreams  a 
wonderful  paradise,  now  persecuted  by  horrible  tempta- 
tions, the  outbursts  of  a  tortured  fancy.  We  know  of 
saints  and  hermits  who  forbade  their  parents  to  see  them 
and  remained  deaf  to  all  prayers,  who  caused  their  own 
children  to  be  tortured  before  their  very  eyes  in  order  to 
render  themselves  insensible  to  earthly  sentiments,  who 
neither  washed  nor  combed  themselves,  nor  changed  their 
clothes,  but  remained  motionless  all  their  lives  in  a 
rapturous  trance.  Though  not  all  the  world  participated 
in  such  madness,  yet  all  the  world  recognised  in  it  the 
ideal  life.  Procreation  and  the  continuance  of  mankind, 
nay,  its  very  existence,  was  in  itself  a  sin.     , 

To  make  life  appear  as  odious  as  possible,  the  greatest 
stress  was  laid  on  the  dark,  the  sordid,  the  painful  and 
unclean  sides  of  life.  Innumerable  works  of  the  earliest 
and  of  the  latest  parts  of  the  Middle  Ages  were  conceived 
to  enforce  the  miseries  and  impurities  of  human  life ;  the 
poor  remnants  of  art  were  dedicated  to  the  same  object.* 

*  A  characteristic  and  much  read  work  of  the  twelfth  century  was 
the  treatise  of  Cardinal  Lothar  (afterwards  Pope  Innocent  VII.  of  the 
family  which  later  on  was  called  de'  Conti),  De  contemptu  mundi  sive  de 
miseria  humancB  conditionis  ("Of  the  Contempt  of  the  World  and  the 
Miseries  of  the  Human  State  "),  which  was  soon  translated  into  Italian 
by  Bono  Giamboni.  It  contains  sentences  like  the  following :  "  Man  is 
composed  of  dirt  and  the  most  vulgar  nutriments,  while  other  things 
are  made  out  of  much  nobler  nutriments,  for  the  Sage  says  that  the 
stars  and  the  planets  are  made  of  fire,  spirits  and  winds  of  air,  fishes 
nd  birds  of  water.  .  .  .  The  trees  produce  leaves,  blossoms  and  fruits 
out  of  themselves,  men  vermin  and  lice  ;  the  former  produce  wine  and 
oil  and  balms,  the  latter  excrements.  The  former  produce  sweetest 
odours,  the  latter  abominable  stench.  ...  If  thou  wilt  well  think  on  it, 
woman  conceives  her  son  in  the  heat  of  lust,  gives  him  birth  in  pain 
and  sorrow,  nourishes  him  with  fear  and  toil,  and  watches  him  with 

B 


1 8  DANTE  AND   HIS   TIME 

To  make  sin  more  horrible  the  fancy  of  men  tormented 
itself  with  the  invention  and  contemplation  of  ever  more 
minute  descriptions  of  Hell  and  Purgatory  ;  every  second 
of  man's  life  was  of  anxious  importance,  for  the  smallest 
sin,  if  it  was  not  repented  and  remitted  during  this  life, 
was  sure  to  draw  after  it,  at  the  very  least,  long  pro- 
tracted pain  in  the  life  beyond  ;  and  as  in  Egypt  of  old, 
human  life  became  dark  and  joyless.  And  as  often  as 
Nature,  like  a  dammed-up  stream,  rose  and  overflowed  its 
limits,  lust  and  passion  became  the  more  savage  and 
furious. 

Another  new  and  unhappy  feature,  which  had  been 
unknown  in  European  history  before  the  Middle  Ages  and 
I  the  expansion  of  Christendom,  were  the  religious  wars. 
Paganism  was  tolerant,  every  man  was  allowed  to  worship 
the  gods  he  chose.  The  persecution  of  Christians  in  the 
Roman  Empire  was  not  founded  on  religious  motives  but 
on  purely  political  reasons,  Christians  being  thought  a 
subversive  sect  and  hostile  to  the  State.  Among  the 
common  people  especially  it  was  generally  believed  that 
in  their  secret  religious  assemblies  the  Christians  killed 
little  pagan  children,  a  belief  which  seems  to  recur  in 
every  time  and  in  every  place,  wherever  strange  and 
mysterious  little  sects  live  separated  and  yet  intermixed 
with  the  people  ;  the  same  superstition  is  found  to  this 
day  in  China,  where  the  people  believe  that  the  Christians 
kill  Chinese  children,  their  eyes  being  needed  for  some 
religious  ceremony ;  and  in  Europe,  where  Christians  in 
their  turn  believe  in  similar  horrors  concerning  Jewish 
rites.      But,   apart   from   political  reasons,  or  when  not 

care  and  anxiety,  and  all  this  is  just  from  natural  impulse.  .  .  .  The 
new-born  boy  says  '  A,'  the  woman  '  E,'  which  are  both  the  sounds  of 
woe  and  pain,  as  many  as  there  are  born  of  Eve's  race." 


THE   NEW   MORAL   IDEAL  19 

stimulated  by  such  odious  and  exciting  rumours,  all 
occidental  religions  were  rather  tolerant,  while  all  religions 
of  oriental  origin,  the  Jewish,  the  Christian,  the  Moslem 
faith,  are  intolerant.  Persecution,  however,  had  not  its 
origin  in  the  spirit  of  Christianity,  but  in  the  fanatic 
zeal  and  orthodox  rage  of  those  who  confessed  it ;  and  mad 
quarrels  about  the  most  insignificant  shades  of  dogmatic 
differences  cost  the  lives  of  millions  of  men. 

This  rage  manifested  itself  from  the  very  beginning. 
The  Arians  once  killed  3000  Catholics  in  a  riot  in  Con- 
stantinople ;  one  Arian  bishop  in  Alexandria  ordered  all 
Catholics  there  to  be  scourged  or  roasted  alive ;  wherever 
the  Catholics  came  into  power  they  did  the  same  with  the 
Arians. 

By  oppressed  Christian  sects  the  Vandals  were  called 
into  Africa  and  the  Mohammedans  into  Egypt.  And  this 
madness  never  ceased  until  recent  times.  In  the  sixteenth 
century  more  people  were  killed  from  religious  motives  in 
the  Netherlands  alone,  and  in  the  space  of  but  twelve 
years — Christians  by  Christians — than  in  all  the  persecu- 
tions of  Christians  in  the  whole  immense  Roman  Empire 
during  four  hundred  years.  The  dissenter  was  a  demon, 
doomed  to  Hell,  an  abomination  to  God ;  and  men  blas- 
phemously fancied  that  their  murderous  cruelty  was 
shared  by  God !  One  of  the  most  influential  ecclesiastic 
authors,  Peter  Lombard,  wrote  the  monstrous  sentence 
that  the  joys  of  the  blessed  would  be  enhanced  after  the 
Judgment  by  the  aspect  of  the  damned  in  their  pain. 

Thus  the  salvation  of  the  soul,  first  by  true  faith,  and 
secondly  by  pious  deeds— both  were  soon  separated  in 
theory  as  well  as  in  practice — became  the  first  object  and 
aim  of  every  mediaeval  man.  Every  believer— they 
formed  the  immense  majority-— did  in  his  own  way  what 


20  DANTE   AND    HIS   TIME 

he  could.  Some  devoted  their  whole  lives  to  contempla- 
tion and  preparation  for  the  life  beyond  ;  those  who  did 
not  go  so  far  did  their  best  by  prayers  and  works  of  re- 
pentance. The  penitent  monk  and  penitent  pilgrim  were 
characteristic  phenomena  of  the  Middle  Ages  :  they  were 
to  be  seen  wandering  on  all  public  roads,  kneeling  in 
every  church,  often  dragging  heavy  chains  or  iron  rings 
after  them  or  wound  around  their  bodies. 

Religious  vows  of  all  kind  played  an  important  part  in 
every  man's  life.  The  prince  promised  a  crusade  for  a 
victory  over  his  enemies,  the  nobleman  a  chapel  for  a 
vengeance  or  for  a  recovery  from  illness,  the  serf  a  candle 
or  a  hundred  prayers  for  finding  a  missing  sheep,  or  for 
keeping  his  damaged  plough  serviceable  until  night. 
A  vast  number  of  persons,  men  as  well  as  women,  took 
the  vows,  sometimes  near  the  end  of  their  lives,  sometimes 
on  their  very  death-beds,  so  that  they  might  die  monks 
or  nuns. 

This  whole  life,  devoted  on  principle  to  supersensual 
things,  was  organised  in  the  visible  Church.  A  vast  and 
powerful  hierarchy  controlled  the  community  of  believers. 
The  Oriental  Christian  Church  became  organised  accord- 
ing to  the  imperial  system  of  the  Romans ;  and  its 
organisation  was  so  splendidly  framed,  spiritual  and 
temporal  links  were  so  admirably  interwoven  in  powerful 
chains,  the  whole  system  was  founded  on  so  cunning  an 
application  of  all  psychologic  means,  that  it  has  survived 
every  attack  from  without  and  all  decay  within,  and  has 
held  its  position,  if  not  victoriously,  yet  unconquered,  to 
the  present  day. 

Oriental  ecstasy  found,  while  keeping  unimpaired  its 
mystic  symbols,  a  perfect  expression  in  the  beautiful 
Catholic  ritual,  always  so  impressive  to  the  senses  and 


5 


THE   NEW   MORAL   IDEAL  21 

minds  of  the  people  ;  and  as  the  oyster  secretes  its  beau- 
tiful pearl  and  surrounds  itself  with  the  protective  shells, 
so  the  whole  religious  movement  surrounded  itself  with  a 
very  rational  hierarchical  system  for  the  preservation  and 
protection  of  faith  as  well  as  of  the  many  material  interests 
of  the  Church.  The  whole  organisation  found  its  central 
unity  in  the  Vicar  of  Christ,  the  Bishop  of  Rome. 

This  development  and  this  concentration  form  a  great 
and  interesting  phenomenon  in  history.  It  was  made 
possible  by  a  great  number  of  co-operating  causes,  by  the 
splendour  of  power  which  hovered  over  old  Imperial 
Rome,  to  which  long  after  its  decay  the  sonorous  verse 
bore  witness  : 

Roma  caput  mundi  regit  orbis  frena  rotundi ; 

then  by  the  necessity  of  a  uniform  organisation  for  the 
double  purpose  of  expanding  the  domain  of  belief  and  of 
retaining  the  newly  converted,  a  necessity  which  was  pro- 
vided for  with  subtlest  intelligence,  and  last  not  least  by 
the  personal  efforts  of  great  Popes,  by  the  deeds  of  those 
who  were  noble  and  great  as  well  as  by  the  energetic,  clear 
and  foreseeing  policy  of  others. 

Thus  the  Catholic  religion  ruled  Christian  Europe  from 
Rome  as  its  centre. 


CHAPTER  III 

THE  POLITICAL  IDEAL 

Thus  a  complete  change  in  the  social  and  political  state 
in  the  ruling  races,  in  religion,  in  morals,  in  culture, 
separates  mediaeval  men  from  those  of  antiquity.  But 
however  great  the  contrast  may  be  in  reality,  reality 
itself  is  but  one  half  of  our  life ;  the  other  half  consists  in 
our  conceptions.  Our  conceptions  of  reality,  the  more  or 
less  distorted  reflections,  which  all  events  leave  in  men's 
brains,  always  influence  the  actions  of  men,  and  therewith 
the  events  themselves.  What  a  man  believes  himself  to 
be,  even  if  perfectly  false,  has  as  much  influence  on  his 
doings  as  what  he  is  in  fact,  for  his  belief  is  but  a  part  of 
himself,  contradictory  as  it  may  appear.  This  is  the 
reason  why  ideas,  even  the  merest  illusion,  nay,  unmiti- 
gated stupidity  itself,  are  facts  and  powers  in  history. 
i  The  illusion  of  mediaeval  men  was,  that  they  believed 
I  themselves  living  in  antiquity — that  they  had  but  a  slight 
*  idea  of  the  gulf  that  yawned  between  them  and  the 
previous  era,  but  believed  their  own  times  to  be  in  every 
respect  the  continuation  and  even  the  perfection,  the 
crowning  fulfilment  of  antiquity.  The  crowning  fulfilment 
— for  had  they  not  the  true  faith,  which  the  old  Greeks 
and  Romans  had  never  known  ? 

The  German  tribes  which  destroyed  the  Roman  Empire 


THE   POLITICAL   IDEAL  23 

did  this,  as  it  were,  unintentionally.  They  invaded  it 
because  they  wanted  to  conquer  territory,  and  desired 
booty,  glory  and  power.  But  the  empire  itself,  with  its 
organisation,  its  vast  extension,  the  dazzling  splendour  of 
its  magnificent  culture  and  its  immense  riches,  was 
regarded  by  them  with  reverential  awe,  they  wanted  but 
to  participate  in  it.  The  weakest  emperors  were  sur- 
rounded by  a  halo  of  gold  and  purple,  of  pomp  and  power, 
and  when  the  barbarians  accepted  Christianity,  an  impor- 
tant reason  of  this  conversion  was  its  being  the  emperor's 
religion.  Even  after  the  division  of  the  empire,  after  the 
downfall  of  the  Western  throne  when  first  the  Goths  and 
then  the  Lombards  ruled  in  Italy,  the  new  masters  were 
regarded  as  usurpers,  not  only  by  the  old  Italian  popula- 
tion, but  the  German  princes  themselves,  who  had  con- 
quered and  in  fact  governed  Italy,  were  at  heart  of  the 
same  opinion.  None  of  them  dared  to  call  himself  Emperor, 
not  even  King  of  Italy — they  styled  themselves  Kings  of 
the  Goths,  Kings  of  the  Lombards.  A  shadow  of  imperial 
sovereignty  seemed  to  hover  above  their  thrones.  Parts 
of  Italy,  Ravenna,  the  so-called  dukedom  of  Rome,  and 
large  territories  in  the  south,  were  for  a  long  time  directly 
subject  to  the  Greek  emperor,  and  governed  by  him 
through  the  Exarch  of  Ravenna.  Numerous  traces  of  the 
Greek  language  may  be  found  in  modern  Italian.  As  late 
as  in  the  year  663,  the  Emperor  Constans  II.  visited  Rome 
on  a  survey  of  his  empire  ;  he  was  the  last  Greek  emperor 
who  personally  entered  Rome,  but  for  a  long  time  the 
Popes  continued  to  be  confirmed  by  the  Exarchs.  In  772, 
a  Bull  of  Hadrian  I.,  he  who  called  Charlemagne  to  Italy, 
begins  with  the  words  :  Imperanie  domino  nostro,  piissimo 
Augusto  Constantino  a  Deo  coronato  magno  imperatore  .  .  . 
("  During  the  reign  of  our  Sovereign,  the  most  pious  and 


24  DANTE   AND    HIS   TIME 

august  Constantinus,  our  great  Emperor,  crowned  by 
God  .  .  .").  Had  those  emperors,  their  rightful  sovereigns, 
the  direct  successors  of  the  Roman  Caesars,  been  able  to 
assist  them  against  the  Lombards,  the  Popes  would  never 
have  called  the  Franks  into  Italy. 

But  Charlemagne  had  other  views  and  intentions  in 
coming  to  Italy  than  the  former  German  kings.  He  put 
an  end  to  the  uncertain  conditions  on  Italian  ground, 
entirely  disregarding  the  problematic  claims  of  Eastern 
emperors  on  the  Western  throne.  But  when,  in  the  year 
800,  he  ordered  Pope  Leo  to  crown  him  as  Roman 
emperor,  even  he  was  fully  persuaded  that  he  had  but 
put  an  end  to  an  interregnum,  that  he  had  seized  the 
same  crown  which  Romulus  Augustulus  in  the  year  475 
had  laid  down  at  the  feet  of  Odovakar.  and  that  he  there- 
with had  become  the  direct  successor  of  Caesar  Qctavianus 
Augustus,  the  first  of  the  emperors. 

This  legitimistic  dream  existed 'throughout  the  Middle 
Ages  and  had  incalculable  consequences.  It  gave  birth  to 
the  notion  that  the  imperial  dignity  meant  primarily  the 
sovereignty  ever  the  Roman  people,  and  that  only  in 
Rome  could  it  be  bestowed  and  received. 

Rome,  however,  became  more  and  more  identified, 
especially  in  the  eyes  of  foreigners,  with  the  papal  throne. 
Such  a  state  of  things  had  never  been  intended  by  Charle- 
magne. Devout  as  he  was,  he  always  considered  himself 
as  the  Pope's  and  the  Roman  people's  sovereign  just  as 
the  Byzantine  emperor  before  him;  as  all  Christian 
emperors  had  been,  who  would  have  laughed  at  the  idea 
of  deriving  their  imperial  power  from  the  Pope.  Charles 
had  acted  as  judge  in  the  Pope's  cause,  and  received  his 
expurgatory  oath,  even  before  the  ceremony  of  coronation 
had  been  performed. 


THE   POLITICAL   IDEAL  25 

He  acknowledged  his  father  Pipin's  donations  of  certain 
territories  and  their  revenues,  but  he  never  intended  con- 
ceding the  power  of  independent  government  to  the  Pope. 
He  had  allowed  the  Pope  to  crown  him  in  order  to  add 
solemnity  to  the  act ;  but,  in  order  to  bar  any  prescriptive 
right,  he  would  not  permit  his  son  and  successor,  Louis 
the  Pious,  to  take  the  crown  at  Rome,  nor  from  the  Pope, 
but  crowned  him  with  his  own  hands  in  the  year  8i_8,  at 
the  Diet  of  Aachen,  as  Emperor  of  the  Romans.  He,  the 
emperor  himself,  nominated  the  emperor — a  great  and 
far-seeing  man  in  whatever  he  undertook. 

Charlemagne's  successors,  however,  were  weaklings, 
while  the  Popes,  especially  Leo  IV.,  the  son  of  Radoald, 
and  Nicholas  I.,  the  son  of  Theodore,  were  powerful 
personalities  and  bold  politicians.  They  won  precedence 
over  the  weak -and  discordant  Carolingian  princes,  the 
spiritual  halo  which  surrounded  their  ever-growing  power 
making  victory  easier  for  them. 


A 


The  most  important  effect  was,  that  the  empire  was 
named  and  thought  to  be  that  of  the  Romans,  and  not  a 
new  empire  of  Germans,  as  it  was  in  reality.     Words  and 
traditions  had  a  much  greater  power  on  mediaeval  men 
than  on  us,  and  the  word  "  empire  "  seemed  intrinsically^ 
connected  with  Imperial  Rome;  hence  it  was  universally' 
believed  that  the  elected  German  king  could  not  lawfully 
become  emperor  except  in  Rome,  an  illusion  which  cost  \ 
the  German  people  oceans  of  blood. 

A  second  and  later  consequence  of  this  imagined  con- 
tinuity was  the  acceptance  of  Roman  law.  In  the  twelfth 
and  thirteenth  centuries,  when  Roman  law  again  began  to 
be  universally  studied,  and  the  emperors  learned  that  it 
had  been  the  law  of  the  old  empire,  they  naturally  thought 
themselves  bound  to  accept  it  as  the  law  of  their  pre- 


^ 


a> 


26  DANTE  AND   HIS   TIME 

decessors,  fully  persuaded  as  they  were  that  their  new 
empire  was  identical  with  the  old.  Nobody  even  thought 
of  questioning  whether  it  was  suited  to  the  new  state  of 
things. 

It  was  the  law  of  an  autocratic  empire,  while  the  new 
empire  was  a  feudal  state ;  it  had  been  made  for  a  country 
with  highly  developed  civilisation,  industry,  commerce  and 
finance;  ill  suited  for  countries  whose  economy  was 
founded  on  primitive  agricultural  institutions.  Besides, 
it  expressed  the  views  and  sentiments  of  a  different  race, 
its  precepts  were  strange  and  incomprehensible  to  the 
people.  But  in  the  Middle  Ages  no  one  ever  inquired  into 
the  nature  of  a  thing ;  words  and  forms  alone  were  con- 
sidered, and  always  were  decisive. 

A  third  consequence  was  that  Latin  became  the  official 
language  of  the  empire,  and  thus  gained  that  immense 
influence  which  it  preserved  throughout  the  whole  period, 
and  which  makes  itself  felt  even  by  us.  Thus  men  received 
a  language  which  was  universal,  and  by  means  of  which 
scholars  and  statesmen  of  all  lands  could  communicate 
with  each  other ;  the  barbarians  found  a  highly  developed 
idiom  capable  of  expressing  thoughts,  for  which  their 
mother-tongue  was  not  mature.  Moreover,  they  received 
the  key  to  the  treasures  of  ancient  literature.  On  the 
other  hand,  the  supremacy  of  the  Latin  speech  consider- 
ably retarded  the  development  of  the  national  languages 
and  of  popular  instruction,  it  widened  the  gulf  between 
the  cultured  and  the  illiterate  classes.  Culture  was 
confined  to  an  unfamiliar  medium  ;  the  very  language  of 
civilisation  and  science,  being  other  than  that  of  daily  life, 
estranged  them  from  life  and  nature. 

Thus  antiquity,  or  let  us  rather  say  what  people  knew 
of  antiquity,  or  what  they  deemed  it  to  be,  became  the 


THE  POLITICAL   IDEAL  27 

universal  basis  on  which  they  believed  everything  must 
needs  be  founded — the  remnants  of  antique  literature 
were  clad  with  an  authority  which  forbade  doubt  and 
criticism. 

The  same  authority  made  itself  felt  in  many  other 
fields,  and  even  in  the  affairs  of  everyday  life.  It  was 
from  antiquity  that  men  wanted  to  derive  their  descent 
and  the  rights  they  valued  most  There  was  no  noble 
Italian  family  but  traced  its  descent  from  some  old  Roman, 
no  town  which  did  not  claim  to  have  been  founded  by 
fugitive  Trojans.  This  ambition  was  not  confined  to  Italy. 
The  monk  Otfried,  of  Weissenburg,  in  his  "  Harmony  of 
the  Gospels,"  says  that  the  Franks  are  descended  from  the 
Macedonians.  The  Roman  nobles  called  themselves 
Consuls,  and  later  on  Senators  or  Proconsuls.  In  the 
same  measure  as  knowledge  increased  and  the  movement 
which  is  now  called  the  Renaissance  advanced,  the  an- 
tique ideal  grew  stronger,  until  in  Cola  Rienzi,  u  the  Last 
of  the  Tribunes,"  who  summoned  all  princes  and  cities 
of  the  world  to  the  tribunal  of  the  sovereign  Roman 
people,  the  political  delusion  reached  its  culmination  and 
exploded  like  a  bubble.  The  astonishment  and  the 
mockery  of  the  summoned  made  the  change  manifest  to 
all  the  world,  and  made  men  conscious  of  the  real  state 
of  things,  to  which  they  had  been  blind  for  so  many  cen- 
turies. But  not  until  true  antiquity  was  again  discovered 
and  understood  did  men  fully  perceive  how  remote  they 
already  were  from  it. 

Mediaeval  society  thought  that  it  was  the  unbroken  con- 
tinuance of  the  antique.  Historical  knowledge  being  defi- 
cient, people  fancied  that  the  social  state  and  civilisation 
of  the  ancients  had  been  just  the  same  state  of  feudalism 
and  chivalry  as  their  own  was.    In  the  numerous  mediaeval 


n. 


28  DANTE  AND   HIS   TIME 

tales  of  Troy  and  of  Alexander  the  Great  we  always  find 
the  same  feudal  surroundings  and  chivalrous  manners  and 
customs.  Antiquity  had  been  the  preparation  of  the  great 
Christian  empire  which  was  ruled  by  the  Emperor  and 
by  the  Pope,  and  there  was  no  historical  event  in  ancient 
times  that  was  not  regarded  as  a  preparatory  step  of 
Divine  providence  for  those  institutions. 

In  the  second  canto  of  the  "  Divine  Comedy,"  Dante 
thinks  himself  unworthy  of  visiting  the  realms  of  the 
dead,  which  nobody  had  visited  before  him  except  St.  Paul 
and  iEneas,  whose  descent  had  been  told  by  Virgil.  That 
the  Apostle,  "  the  vessel  of  election,"  was  worthy  of  such 
a  vision  is  obvious,  that  iEneas  could  be  admitted  is  ex- 
plained by  Dante  in  his  mission  : 

For  he  of  our  dear  Rome  and  its  great  might 

Was  chosen  sire  in  heaven  empyreal, 
But  this  and  that,  to  speak  truth  definite, 

Were  fixed  and  'stablished  for  the  Holy  See 
Where  the  great  Peter's  Vicar  sits  of  right ; 

He,  in  that  journey,  where  he  won  from  thee 
His  glory,  heard  of  things  from  whence  did  flow 

The  Papal  mantle  and  his  victory. 

(Plumptre.) 


In  the  same  way,  Dante,  in  his  political  treatise  "  On 
Monarchy,"  derives  the  imperial  power  from  the  Romans, 
who  in  their  turn  had  been  predestined  and  empowered  by 
Divine  providence  to  conquer  and  rule  the  world.  Hence 
it  follows — such  is  Dante's  argument  in  this  Ghibelline 
pamphlet — that  the  emperor's  rights  are  derived  directly 
from  God  and  not  from  the  Pope. 

It  was  the  highest  political  ideal  of  the  Middle  Ages 
that  Pope  and  Emperor — the  two  swords,  or  the  two 
lights  of  the  world,  as  they  were  called — should  govern  it 


THE   POLITICAL  IDEAL  29 

in  peace  with  each  other,  one  caring  for  its  spiritual  the 
other  for  its  temporal  welfare.     Absolute  theocracy  in  all 
spiritual,  absolute  monarchy  in   all  temporal  questions  j 
this  was  the  political  ideal,  especially  that  of  Dante.    The 
real  state  of  things  and  their  development  of  course  never 
corresponded  to  this  ideal.     Essays  were  made  towards 
its  realisation  by  a  few  powerful  persons,  both  from  the 
papal  and  from  the  imperial  throne.     But  the  very  insti- 
tutions of  feudalism,  the  troubled  state  of  the  empire,  the 
division  of  the  land  into  innumerable  greater  or  smaller 
estates,  rendered  the  absolute  power  of  the  Emperor  inef-  • 
fective.     Then  the  bearers  of  the  two  supreme  powers  .. 
were  but  men,  exposed  to  human  weakness  and  blinded  ■  ■ 
by  ambition  ;  they  quarrelled,  and  instead  of  being  allies, ,  ' 
became  rivals. 

The  impossibility  of  delineating  a  sure  limit  between. 
their   mutual  competences,   the  undying   question  as  to'^ 
what  belonged  to  the  purely  spiritual  sphere  and  what. ' 
was  purely  temporal,  the  necessary  mingling  of  both  in 
real  life,  the  innumerable  conflicts  of  interest,  occasioned " 
unceasing  complaints  of  both  parties  against  encroach- .' 
ments  from  the  other  side,  and  originated  that  great  strife  -, 
between    the  two  powers  which,  drawing  almost  every 
question  of  political  and  intellectual  life  into  its  vortex, 
went  on  for  centuries  and  has  not  quite  subsided  in  our 
days.     We  should  be  thankful  for  it.     Had  it  been  pos- 
sible for  the  two  pov/ers  to  unite,  or  had  one  succeeded  in 
making  the  other  completely  subservient  to  its  aims,  the 
consequence  would  certainly  not  have  been  the  realisation 
of  Dante's  ideal— an  empire  flourishing  in  eternal  peace— 
but  a  uniform  Chinese  despotism,  by  which  all  freedom 
and  all  development  had  been  made  impossible. 


CHAPTER  IV 

THE  COMBAT  BETWEEN  CHURCH  AND  STATE 

The  ambition  of  the  spiritual  lords,  who  desired  to 
extend  their  control  over  temporal  matters  also,  pretend- 
ing that  their  power  as  the  spiritual  was  the  higher,  gave 
the  first  impulse  to  discord.  As  was  said  above,  during 
the  reign  of  the  last  Carolingian  princes,  the  rights  of  the 
Emperor  diminished  while  the  authority  of  the  Pope 
increased.  By  the  ninth  century  the  papal  throne  had 
become  a  ruling  power  in  Europe,  and  has  remained  so 
ever  since,  at  least  in  principle,  even  during  the  period  of 
its  deepest  decay  in  the  tenth  century;  for  as  soon  as 
the  state  of  the  Church  was  bettered  and  purified  through 
the  great  reforming  movement,  the  Popes  instantly  re- 
newed their  former  claims,  and  as  the  nations  grew  more 
and  more  religious,  succeeded  in  enforcing  them.  In  the 
eighth  and  ninth  centuries  the  great  forgeries  of  the 
so-called  Donation  of  Constantine  (a  pure  invention  and 
a  falsification  throughout),  on  which  the  temporal  dominion 
of  the  Popes  is  essentially  based,  were  first  perpetrated. 
L  In  the  ninth  the  Donations  of  the  Kings  Pipin  and  Lewis 
1  were  forged.  Although  founded  on  fact,  they  were  com- 
pletely false  so  far  as  the  pretended  documents  showed 
larger  territories  and  far  more  comprehensive  rights  than 
had  ever  been  conferred  by  the  originals.     But  still  more 


THE  CHURCH  AND  STATE  COMBAT   31 

important  were  the  false  decretals  of  the  so-called  pseudo- 1 
Isidorus.      In    the   place   of    the   collection    of  genuine) 
decretals — that  is,  papal  decrees — which  had  been  made 
by  Bishop  Isidorus  of  Seville,  Churchmen  began,  in  the 
latter  half  of  the  ninth  century,  to  use  a  forged  collection 
ascribed  to  the  same  Isidorus,  but  which  probably  origin- 
ated in  the  north-east  of  France.     It  contained  a  large,, 
number  of  letters  of  former  Popes,  almost  all  forgeries,  inj 
which   the   supremacy   of  the  Bishop  of  Rome  over  all! 
bishops  and  archbishops  of  the  world,  and  his  spiritual1 
control  of  all  laymen,  was  asserted  in  much  stronger  terms 
than  hitherto.     At   the   same   time,  all  clergymen  were 
rendered  almost  totally  exempt  from  civil  justice  and  the 
authority  of  civil  magistrates.     The  tendency  of  the  falsi- 
fication was  to  elevate  and  to  centralise  the  power  of  the 
Church  and  to  transform  it  into  a  monarchic  institution. 
Parchments  and  writs  had  a  far  higher  authority  in  those 
times  than  they  have   now ;  critic^l^ijnquiry   being  un- 
known— for,  indeed,  hardly  any  one  except  the  clergy*had 
learning  enough  to  read  these  documents — the  possibility 
of  falsification  never  was  so  much  as  suspected,  and  those 
decretals  soon  became  established  law. 

If,  however,  we  look  at  the  whole  transaction  from  a 
purely  historical,  and  not  from  a  moral  point  of  view,  we^ 
may  say  that  those  letters,  though  forged  and  attributed  • 
to  Popes,  who  could  never  have  thought  of  such  a  power 
being  given  to  them,  were  nevertheless  the  adequate 
expression  of  public  opinion,  and  of  the  claims  of  the 
Roman  Church,  as  justified  by  the  spirit  of  the  times.  In 
those  letters  the  Church  gave  itself  a  legal  basis  on  which 
it  could  found  its  dominion.  It  does  not  seem  to  make  a 
great  difference  whether  they  were  "  decreed  "  in  Rome 
or  forged  in  Rheims,  because  the  fact  remains  that  in 


32  DANTE   AND    HIS   TIME 

them  the  real  state  of  Church  power   found  a  c#difica» 
tion. 

The  mutual  position  of  the  Pope  and  Emperor  under- 
went  a  complete  change.  In  the  year  *]JJ  the  Romans 
had  sworn  the  oath  of  fealty  to  Charlemagne  and  the 
Pope  had  acknowledged  him  as  his  sovereign.  Less  than 
a  century  later  Pope  Nicolas  I.  was  Sovereign  Lord  of 
Rome  and  the  Emperor  Lewis  II.  led  his  horse  on  foot„ 
Another  change  followed,  by  which  the  Emperors  re- 
covered their  original  power  of  enthroning  and  deposing 
the  Popes,  but  after  many  uncertainties  and  continual 
shifting  of  power  now  to  this  side  and  now  to  the  other, 
the  Popes,  assisted  by  the  ever-increasing  religious  move- 
ment among  the  peoples,  were  decidedly  victorious  ; 
Gregory  VII.  was  in  a  position  to  claim  the  papal 
dominion  over  the  world. 

In  the  tenth  century  the  Emperors  had  nominated  the 
Popes  ;  in  the  course  of  the  next  the  Emperor's  crown, 
though  always  due  to  the  German  king,  became  a  gift  of  the 
Pope,  until  Emperor  Lothar  seemed  to  settle  the  strife  by 
acknowledging  in  a  written  document  that  he  owed  his 
imperial  power  to  the  Pope,  from  whom  he  had  received 
it.  With  the  rise  of  the  Hohenstaufens  the  combat  began 
anew,  and  lasted  until  both  powers — that  of  the  Pope  as 
well  as  that  of  the  empire — had  bled  themselves  to 
death. 

Even  before  the  Carolingian  house  had  become  extinct 
jthey  had  lost  their  power  in  Italy,  which  fell  into  an 
^anarchic  state.  After  the  deposition  of  Charles  the  Bald, 
princes  of  Lombard,  Frank  and  Burgundian  *ri$in  suc- 
cessively became  kings  of  Italy,  but  none  %{  them 
obtained  a  real  and  lasting  power*  In  R#me  there  w*s 
an   open  and   constant   opposition   on   the   part   of  the 


THE  CHURCH  AND  STATE  COMBAT      33 

Roman  people  to  the  Popes;  the  fierce  Roman  aris- 
tocracy dominated  the  papal  see.  In  the  course  of 
thirty  years,  five  out  of  eight  Popes  died  violent  deaths, 
either  strangled  in  prison  or  killed  by  rebellious  nobles ; 
two  renounced  their  dignities,  and  only  one  of  them  died 
a  natural  death.  This  was  the  time  of  most  profound  J 
decay  in  the  Roman  Churchy  In  the  year  1046  three* 
Popes  fought  for  the  Tiara,  until  Emperor  Henry  III.  put* 
an  end  to  this  state  in  the  Synod  of  Sutciby  deposing  all 
three  and  enthroning  a  German  bishopr  Five  German 
Popes  now  succeeded  one  another,  all  strong  men  and 
favouring  reform.  In  the  tenth  century  the  barbarism  of 
the  people  and  the  worldliness  of  the  clergy  had  reached 
its  height.  Then  began  a  religious  reaction,  originating 
in  the  monastic  orders,  and  particularly  in  French  cloisters, 
the  centre  of  which  was  the  newly  founded  monastery  of| 
Cluny.  The  original  tendency  of  this  movement  was 
ascetic ;  an  agitation  against  the  life  of  worldly  pleasure 
and  fighting  which  most  priests  led,  and  particularly 
against  the  marriages  of  priests,  which  had  become 
general ;  at  the  same  time  they  enforced  Church  govern- 
ment by  carrying  into  the  hierarchy  the  same  severe  and 
centralistic  spirit  in  which  their  convents  were  organised. 
It  was  not  only  victorious  within  the  Church  itself,  but 
propagated  by  the  agitation  of  monks  and  hermits;  it 
conquered  the  minds  of  men,  everywhere  deepening  the 
religious  spirit  and  reinforcing  the  ideals  of  the  Church. 
It  led  to  that  mysticism  which  played  so  important  a  part 
in  the  intellectual  life  of  the  later  centuries  of  the  Middle 
Ages,  it  decided  the  great  combat  between  the  Emperor 
and  the  Pope,  and  it  had  a  decisive  influence  on  the 
development  of  the  Catholic  Church.  From  France  it 
spread  over  Germany  and  Italy,  where  it  found  a  new 


3+  DANTE  AND   HIS  TIME 

centre  in  Florence  in  the  monastery  of  Vallombrosa. 
Monks  from  Cluny  and  their  partisans  soon  attained  the 
first  places  at  the  Papal  Court.  The  earnest  and  erudite 
Germans,  who,  following  on  the  dissolute  Romans,  now 
occupied  the  papal  seat,  called  to  their  council  pure  and 
austere  men  whose  spirit  was  kindred  to  their  own.  An 
interesting  fact  may  be  observed  in  the  final  result :  the 
German  emperors,  wishing  to  purify  the  sullied  Church, 
had  nominated  German  Popes ;  these,  led  by  the  same 
tendency  of  purification  and  reform,  selected  men  who 
L  soon  turned  the  policy  of  the  Church  against  the  German 
1  emperors.  The  Popes,  who  had  been  delivered  by  the 
Emperor  from  the  tyranny  of  the  Roman  nobles,  now 
reclaimed  their  independence  from  the  Emperor  himself. 
Nicolas  II.,  formerly  Bishop  Gerard  of  Florence,  a  Bur- 
gundian,  confined  the  right  of  electing  the  Pope  to  the 
Cardinals  alone.  His  second  successor  was  Hildebrand, 
the  son  of  Bonizo,  a  Tuscan  carjtenter^  Bonizo  and 
Hildebrand  being  both  frequent  Longobard  names,  we  may 
assume  that  he,  too,  was  of  Longobard  origin.  He  was 
small,  of  poor  figure,  but  one  of  the  most  remarkable  and 
strong-willed  men  who  ever  lived,  not  vehement,  not 
irascible,  but  quiet,  gentle,  and  of  an  iron  firmness  of 
purpose  ;  "  blandus  ille  tyrannus,"  "  the  gentle  tyrant,"  or 
"  the  holy  Satan "  as  he  is  called  in  the  letters  of  his 
friend  Pier  Damiani,  who  often  felt  the  irresistible  power 
of  Gregory's  personality. 

He  was  not  satisfied  with  freedom  of  election,  but 
i  claimed  supremacy  over  the  Emperor  and  the  temporal 
sovereignty  of  the  Church  over  Hungary,  Bohemia, 
Russia,  Spain,  Dalmatia,  Croatia,  Poland,  England, 
Sweden,  Norway,  Denmark,  and  the  newly  founded  Nor- 
man state  in  the  South  of  Italy — the  latter  being  the  only 


THE  CHURCH  AN*  STATE  C#M*AT      35 

•ne  which  the  PWjies  afterwards  succeeded  in  making 
really  a  fief  of  the  Church.  He  proclaimed  the  programme 
of  the  universal  dominion  of  the  Roman  Church. 

In  his  reign  the  so-called  War  of  Investitures  com- 
menced. The  Pope  demanded  that  the  prelates  should 
henceforth  be  elected  by  the  clergy  of  their  diocese  alone, 
and  confirmed  by  the  Pope.  Just  as  this  demand  seemed, 
and  though  good  reasons  could  be  alleged  for  it,  civil 
authority  had  no  choice  but  to  oppose  it. 

It  had  been  the  policy  of  the  Emperor  Henry  III.  to 
employ  the  episcopal  power  against  the  unruly  feudal 
princes  of  the  empire.  Bishops  were  selected  for  his 
counsellors  and  ministers,  even  for  his  generals ;  the 
bishops  of  the  empire  were  given  large  feudal  dominions; 
the  men  who  were  nominated  to  bishoprics  were  able 
politicians  or  staunch  warriors  of  undoubted  loyalty  to 
the  Emperor ;  and  when  the  Emperor's  treasury  was 
empty,  those  were  appointed  who  could  pay  for  their 
offices.  Such  a  system  could  not  be  approved  by  a  Pope 
who,  while  he  earnestly  tried  to  raise  the  ecclesiastical 
spirit,  wanted  the  bishops  to  be  his  political  instruments 
against  the  Emperor.  He  demanded  that  only  true 
clergymen  elected  by  clergymen  should  be  called  to 
clerical  offices.  The  Emperor  alleged  that  he  could  not 
submit  to  a  system  by  which  the  third  part  or  more  of  the 
feudal  estates  of  the  empire  would  be  bestowed  and 
occupied  by  a  power  which  was  riot  his.  He  was  willing 
to  grant  the  freedom  of  election,  but  on  the  one  condition 
that  the  fiefs  should  be  returned  to  the  empire.  The 
bishops  would  not  hear  of  this.  Both  parties  insisting 
on  their  demands,  a  war  of  fifty  years  duration  ensued, 
which  caused  great  ruin  both  in  Italy  and  in  Germany, 
and  embittered  the  reign  of  two  Emperors  and  of  six 


36  DANTE   AND   HIS   TIME 

Popes.  The  last  but  one  of  the  Popes,  Paschal  II.,  a 
mild-tempered  old  man,  thought  it  but  just  for  the  clergy, 
resolved  as  they  were  to  be  merely  clerical  henceforth,  to 
give  up  the  estates  ;  but  the  whole  clergy  immediately 
rose  against  him  in  uproar,  and  a  General  Council  refused 
to  ratify  the  treatise. 

The  strife  was  an  unequal  one,  and  its  conduct  was 
terrible  and  confusing  to  the  minds  of  men.  The  Pope 
released  laymen  from  their  duty  of  obedience  to  simoniacal 
bishops  and  vassals  from  allegiance  to  their  lords.  All 
human  relations  between  men  and  all  moral  sentiments 
were  thus  confused  and  disturbed.  The  son  rose  against 
his  father,  the  Church  became  divided  within  itself,  for 
in  Germany  and  in  Lombardy  the  bishops  of  the  old 
school  fought  on  the  Emperor's  side.  But  the  final 
victory  of  the  Church  could  not  be  doubted.  "  The  re- 
sources of  the  German  monarch,"  says  Lamprecht,  "  were 
of  an  external  and  merely  political  nature,  unable  to  cope 
with  the  power  which  the  ideas  of  reform  had  over  the 
souls  of  men." 

The  persons  who  played  prominent  parts  in  this  strife 
are  well  known.  The  dissolute  and  unhappy  old  Emperor 
Henry  IV.,  the  hero  of  a  hundred  battles,  who  for  three 
days  stood  a  penitent  in  the  snow  before  the  castle  of 
Canossa — he,  too,  was  a  man  of  high  gifts  and  stubborn 
force,  but  dissipated  and  unsteady,  no  match  for  a  man  like 
Pope  Gregory  VII.  At  Canossa  the  Pope  took -the  Host 
with  the  imprecation  that,  if  he  was  conscious  of  the 
slightest  guilt  on  his  part,  God  might  strike  him  dead  ;  he 
then  offered  the  other  half  to  the  Emperor  that  he  might 
do  the  same,  but  the  Emperor  did  not  dare.  This  event 
is  highly  characteristic  of  both  adversaries  and  of  their 
unequal  personal  force. 


THE  CHURCH  AND  STATE  COMBAT      37 

Another  striking  person  was  the  Marchioness  Matilda 
of  Tuscany,  the  new  Deborah,  as  she  was  called  by  her 
admirers,  a  proud  fanatically  pious  woman,  always  ready 
to  fight  for  the  Church.  Disappointed  and  unhappy  in 
her  marriage  with  the  hunchbacked  Duke  Godfrey  of 
Upper  Lorraine,  she  devoted  all  the  energy  of  her  high- 
strung  nature  to  the  Church,  and,  in  spite  of  her  pride, 
suffered  herself  to  be  overruled  by  two  masterful  priests, 
Bishop  Anselm  of  Lucca,  her  particular  friend  and  spiritual 
director^and  Gregory  himself,  who  cleverly  contrived  to 
direct  and  control  her,  through  the  bishop's  influence. 
She  lived  in  constant  emotional  dependence  on  theSe  two 
men,  who  exercised  an  almost  hypnotic  power  over  her. 
When  suffering  from  illness  she  was  cured  by  the  bishop 
laying  his  hands  on  her  forehead,  and  even  after  his  death 
she  would  lean  her  head  on  the  wooden  board  on  which 
his  corpse  had  lain,  to  recover  from  indisposition ;  when 
her  eyes  became  inflamed,  she  put  a  ring  on  them  which 
the  bishop  once  had  worn,  or  a  piece  of  paper  on  which 
he  had  written  prayers.  Her  case  is  typical,  and  instances 
of  the  like  may  be  found  a]so  in  modern  times.* 

There  is  a  reverse  side  to  the  victory  of  the  Pope.  It 
was  in  the  year  1075  that  a  Pope  dared  for  the  first  time 
to  command  the  Roman  Emperor  to  obey  him  and  dismiss 
his  counsellors  under  penalty  of  excommunication ;  two 
years  later  the  Emperor  stood  a  penitent  before  the  walls 
of  Canossa.     In  that  same  year,  about  Christmas,  the 

*  Some  historians,  hostile  to  the  Church,  have  put  a  gross  interpre- 
tation upon  her  relations  to  the  bishop  as  well  as  to  the  Pope ;  see,  in 
refutation  of  these,  the  excellent  statement  in  Davidsohn's  "  Geschichte 
von  Florenz,"  p.  253.  The  stern,  warlike  marchioness  has  been  trans- 
formed by  Dante  into  the  graceful  Matilda,  whom  he  sees  singjng  and 
gathering  flowers  in  the  terrestrial  Paradise,  preceding  the  procession 
of  the  triumphant  Church. 


38  DANTE   AND    HIS   TIME 

same  Pope  Gregory  VII.  was  attacked  and  beaten  in  the 
Church  of  St.  Peter  by  a  Roman  nobleman  called  Cencio, 
and  finally  imprisoned  in  the  assailant's  palace.  These 
are  genuine  scenes  of  the  Middle  Ages.  The  domestic 
strife  between  the  Popes  and  the  city  of  Rome  runs  like 
a  caricature  parallel  to  the  world — upheaving  combat 
between  the  Popes  and  the  Emperors. 

While  Frederic  Barbarossa  humbled  himself  before 
Alexander  III.,  and  King  Henry  II.  of  England  suffered 
the  Pope  to  inflict  penalties  on  him  "  such  as  to-day  n  (I 
quote  from  Machiavelli,  and  "  to-day"  means  1520),  ll  a 
private  person  would  be  ashamed  to  submit  to,"  that 
same  Pope,  "  who  wielded  such  an  authority  over  distant 
princes,"  in  spite  of  the  humblest  prayers,  was  unable  to 
move  the  Romans  to  permit  him  to  enter  his  town  and  his 
church.  Gregory  IX.,  the  great  enemy  of  Frederic  II., 
was  five  times  forced  to  fly  from  Rome,  and  returned 
thither  five  times,  yielding  to  the>  trrgent  prayers  of  the 
Roman  people.  "  But  as  soon  as  one  demon  was  expelled 
from  that  people,  seven  devils  possessed  it  again,"  says  a 
biographer  of  this  Pope.  Their  continual  requests  were 
money-gifts,  and  no  Pope  was  able  to  satisfy  their  thirst 
for  gold.  Hardly  any  Pope  during  the  whole  Middle 
Ages  could  reside  undisturbed  in  the  city  of  Rome. 

One  must  strive  to  realise  mediaeval  Rome  with  its  nine 
hundred  towers,  the  gloomy  palaces  of  the  noblemen,  the 
most  important  of  which  were  constructed  in  the  remnants 
of  the  mighty  edifice  of  the  past,  the  Colosseum,  the 
Arches  of  Triumph,  the  castle  of  St.  Angelo,  then  the 
narrow  streets,  and  the  narrowed  but  furious  life  which 
raged  in  them.  The  reader  must  picture  to  himself  the 
unceasing  family  feuds  between  the  Conti,  the  Frangipani, 
and    the  many  other  noble   houses   of   Rome.*    Every 


THE  CHURCH  AND  STATE  COMBAT      39 

moment  the  feud  is  revived  by  some  act  of  vengeance, 
some  contested  election,  some  piece  of  mockery ;  the  streets 
are  instantly  barred  by  chains  drawn  across  them, 
towers  are  constructed  rapidly  everywhere,  in  every 
street  from  all  the  windows  and  roofs  the  vassals  shoot, 
the  houses  of  the  hostile  family  are  besieged,  set  on  fire  or 
torn  down  ;  and  constantly  some  quarter  of  the  city  or  all 
its  quarters  are  changed  into  the  fortified  camps  of  parties 
at  war  with  one  another.  And  as  in  Rome,  so  it  was  in 
many  other  towns  of  Italy. 

Another  striking  feature  of  the  times  is  furnished  by  the 
election  of  antipopes.  Few  Popes,  indeed,  in  the  Middle 
Ages  had  their  elections  left  uncontested.  Passionate 
and  unruly  men  did  not  content  themselves  with  platonic 
opposition,  their  candidate  was  crowned  notwithstanding 
the  majority  being  against  him,  and  pope  and  antipope  ex- 
communicated each  other  and  made  armed  war  against  each 
other,  thereby  perplexing  still  more  the  souls  of  believers. 

Fulcher  of  Chartres,  who,  while  taking  part  in  the  first 
crusade,  marched  through  Rome  with  a  party  of  the 
pilgrims,  gives  the  following  account  in  the  second  chapter 
of  the  first  book  of  his  history  of  the  Kingdom  of  Jeru- 
salem :  "-Entering  the  Basilica  of  St.  Peter  we  found 
men  of  the  foolish  Pope  Wibert  before  the  altar,  who, 
sword  in  hand,  unlawfully  possessed  themselves  of  the 
pious  gifts  which  lay  on  the  altar.  Others  were  seen 
running  on  the  beams  of  the  ceiling,  who  threw  stones 
down  upon  us,  while  we  lay  prostrate  praying  on  the 
floor.  One  tower,  however,  was  kept  by  the  men  of 
Pope  Urban,  who  loyally  held  it  for  Urban,  and  resisted 
his  enemies  as  well  as  they  could.  Much  pain  did  we 
feel,  seeing  such  outrage,  but  we  could  do  nothing  except 
implore  God  to  avenge  it." 


40  DANTE   AND   HIS   TIME 

The  War  of  the  Investitures  was  ended  in  the  year  1 122 
by  the  Concordat  of  Worms.  It  was  ordained  that,  while 
the  election  should  pertain  to  the  clergy  alone,  the  bestow- 
ing of  fiefs  should  be  reserved  to  the  civil  authorities ;  so 
both  had  to  unite  in  advance  on  the  candidate  for  every 
election.  Though  this  result  was  most  natural  and 
simple,  it  would  not  have  been  possible  at  any  earlier 
time,  before  both  parties  were  tired  of  the  fifty  years  of 
struggle  and  the  interest  of  men  in  the  whole  question 
had  faded.  But  the  combat  beiween  the  Emperors  and 
the  Popes,  between  Church  and  State,  continued  never- 
theless, and  raged  with  unbroken  vehemence  under  the 
Emperors  of  the  House  of  Swabia.  Nor  could  it  be 
otherwise.  The  Church  claimed  the  temporal  dominion 
over  at  least  large  parts  of  Italy,  while  the  Emperors 
defended  the  rights  of  the  empire.  The  Church  fighting 
with  spiritual  weapons  in  the  very  souls  of  her  anta- 
gonists had  a  double  advantage,  because,  when  victorious, 
her  victory  was  certainly  real ;  when  defeated,  she  became 
a  martyr  in  men's  eyes  and  instantly  found  new  enthu- 
siastic champions.  She  repeatedly  had  her  friends  elected 
emperors,  as,  for  example,  the  Guelf,  Otto  IV.,  against 
whom  she  in  turn  sent  out  Frederic  II.  But  as  soon  as 
they  had  become  emperors  their  most  essential  interests 
constrained  them  to  oppose  the  Church.  And  the  same 
was  the  case  on  the  other  side.  When  the  Cardinal 
Count  Sinibald  Fiesco,  who  had  always  been  a  staunch 
partisan  of  the  Emperor,  was  elected  Pope  as  Innocent  IV., 
Frederic  II.  said,  "  Now  I  have  lost  a  true  friend  among 
the  cardinals ;  no  Pope  can  be  a  Ghibelljne." 


CHAPTER  V 

THE  HOHENSTAUFEN 

During  the  reign  of  the  Swabian  princes,  the  war  which 
divided  the  world  and  brought  interminable  civil  discord 
and  ruin  to  Italy  becomes  attractive  with  a  new  and 
heightened  interest,  for  the  men  who  now  begin  to  play 
prominent  parts  in  it  seem  more  akin  to  us  in  culture  and 
versatility  of  mind,  their  portraits  have  more  life  and 
colour,  they  are  not  mere  shadows  and  enigmas  to  us,  as 
are  the  dim  and  stiff  figures  of  former  generations. 

In  the  foreground  of  that  historic  scene  the  struggle 
and  the  fall  of  the  House  of  Hohenstaufen  appears  like 
a  grand  and  tremendous  tragedy.  The  Hohenstaufens 
may  be  considered  a  human  phenomenon.  Another 
reigning  family  showing  such  an  uninterrupted  line  of 
brilliant  and  gifted  personalities  will  not  easily  be  found 
in  history.  They  did  not  exactly  possess  political  talents, 
but  they  were  all  handsome,  chivalrous,  and  broad-minded, 
possessing  all  the  culture  and  freedom  of  thought  of  the 
period.  A  resplendent  light  of  art  and  beauty  is  shed 
around  them,  almost  every  one  6f  them  was  a  renowned 
warrior  and  a  minstrel  too,  and  their  glory  was  heightened 
by  the  tragic  fate  that  fell  to  the  lot  of  each.  They  were 
mediaeval  l^iighthood  and  monarchism  personified.  For 
them  fought  the  Spirit  of  Chivalry  and  Minstrelsy,  of 


r 


42  DANTE  AND   HIS   TIME 

new-born  Joy  and  Art,  against  the  ascetic  clerical  power, 
and  with  them  it  was  defeated.  Theirs  was  the  spirit  of 
reawakening  terrestrial  life  and  culture. 

But  in  the  same  race  was  embodied  for  the  last  time 
the  ideal  of  the  old  empire;  the  visionof  the  "Roman 
Empjre-of  -  the  -German  Nation,"  as  its  official  title  was, 
the  creation  of  Charlemagne ;  in  them  it  strove  for  the 
last  time  to  realise  itself  in  all  its  fancied  and  traditionary 
power.  Thus  they  became  at  the  same  time  the  repre- 
sentatives of  a  dying  and  of  an  arising  period,  uniting  the 
aspirations  of  both.  The  empire  had  been  founded 
(renewed,  as  people  fancied)  in  the  year  800,  and  after 
1250  it  fell.  After  the  interregnum  it  was  but  a  shadow, 
though  it  existed  until  1806.    • 

The  new  Dynasty  of  Habsburg  inaugurates  a  new  era, 
a  new  policy  begins  to  prevail,  the  dawn  of  modern 
Europe  seems  to  appear  in  a  distance — the  Middle  Ages, 
the  times  of  Chivalry  and  Romance,  begin  to  decline. 
Dante,  who  in  sorrowful  verses,  which  form  one  of  the 
most  famous  episodes  of  the  "  Divine  Comedy  "  reproaches 
the  Habsburg  Emperor  Albrecht  that  he  never  went  to 
Rome,  struck  the  keynote ;  though  later  on  some  of  the 
emperors  again  returned  to  it,  the  march  to  Rome,  the 
central  and  crowning  enterprise  of  the  earlier  emperors, 
the  romantic  symbol  of  a  romantic  imperialism,  for  which 
the  Hohenstaufens  had  arrayed  and  exhausted  all  the 
might  and  splendour  of  their  knightly  hosts,  had  lost  all 
its  importance  with  them.  Romantic  symbols  began  to 
lose  their  power  over  the  fancy  of  men,  the  princes  ceased 
to  care  so  much  for  the  mere  form  of  coronation,  but 
turned  their  attention  to  more  real  power. 

This  strong  adherence  to  a  dying  institution  was  the 
ruin  of  the  Hohenstaufens.     In  all  intellectual  matters 


THE   HOHENSTAUFEN  43 

they  were  abreast  of  their  time,  nevertheless  they  were 
unable  to  comprehend  the  current  of  its  political  and 
social  movements.  They  failed  to  see  that  the  day  of  the' 
cities  and  citizens  was  dawning  and  that  feudalism  was 
beginning  to  decline.  Nowhere  was  this  great  change 
farther  advanced  than  in  Italy,  the  country  which  was  at 
that  time  foremost  in  European  civilisation  ;  and  it  was  in 
combating  the  resistance  of  the  Italian  cities  that  the 
Hohenstaufens  exhausted  their  power.  Vain  were  all 
their  victories,  vain  the  re-erection  of  German  feudal 
administration,  in  vain  Barbarossa  raised  the  Tuscan 
counts  to  the  dignity  of  Princes  of  the  Empire ;  the  towns 
were  the  stronger,  for  theirs  was  the  higher  civilisation, 
theirs  the  greater  economical  might,  and  the  greater 
concentration  of  money  as  well  as  of  military  force. 

The  Church,  though  in  reality  far  from  approving  these 
movements,  made  good  use  of  them.  In  all  other  lands}  _ 
the  Papacy  remained  hostile  to  all  democratic  changes,  i 
England  was  laid  under  interdict  by  the  Pope  as  soon  as 
Magna  Charta  was  won ;  but  in  Italy  the  Church  wisely 
took  the  part  of  the  cities,  and  with  their  help  vanquished 
the  Emperor.  Yet  it  was  but  a  losing  victory ;  the  Church 
had  scarcely  time  to  exult,  so  quickly  did  its  fall  follow 
upon  that  of  its  great  opponents. 

It  is  not  my  object  to  relate  here  the  history  of  this 
struggle ;  I  shall  but  try  to  throw,  as  it  were,  flying  lights 
on  it,  and,  as  much  as  possible,  I  shall  make  the  people 
who  then  lived  and  were  made  to  feel  its  consequences 
speak  for  themselves. 

Like  all  the  great  conflicts  of  history,  this,  too,  though 
founded  on  the  deep  antagonism  of  irreconcilable  prin- 
ciples, was  constantly  called  forth  and  renewed  by  num- 
berless greater  or   smaller  causes  of  discord.     Frederic 


44  DANTE  AND   HIS  TIME 

Barbarossa  created  a  new  one  by  marrying  his  son  Henry 
to  Constance,  the  heiress  of  Sicily.  Sicily  was  considered 
s  to  be  a  fief  of  the  Papal  throne.  It  was  not  so  by  any 
lawful  right ;  but  a  hundred  and  fifty  years  before  Norman 
counts,  having  won  the  isle  by  conquest,  requested  the 
Pope  to  bestow  it  upon  them  as  feudatories  of  the  Church, 
and  the  Pope  had  willingly  complied  to  their  wish,  one 
usurper  thus  guaranteeing  another's  right.  The  Nor- 
mans said,  "  The  kingdom  is  ours,  for  the  Pope  bestowed 
it  upon  us  " ;  the  Popes  said,  "  It  must  needs  be  our  fief, 
for  how  could  the  Normans  ask  it  from  us  had  it  beep 
otherwise ! "  Nobody  being  at  hand  to  object,  this  became 
the  established  state  of  things.  Thus,  by  Henry's  mar- 
riage, the  German  king  and  Roman  emperor  would  have 
become  the  Pope's  vassal  as  king  of  Sicily.  To  the  many 
already  existing  difficulties  and  entanglements  in  the  rela- 
tions of  the  two  powers  was  thus  added  a  quite  impossible 
complication,  which  led  on  to  the  final  catastrophe. 

The   danger  of  the   situation  was   not  instantly  felt ; 

•  under  the  gloomy  and  terrible  Henry  VI.  the  House  of  the 
Hohenstaufen  had  reached  the  summit  of  its  success.  He 
ruled  from  the  North  Sea  to  the  southern  end  of  Italy,  and, 
had  his  power  been  lasting,  that  of  the  Papacy  would  have 
been  stifled  by  it.  The  Popes  would  have  been  as  entirely 
dependent  on  the  German  emperors  in  Rome  as  later  they 
were  subject  at  Avignon  to  the  will  of  the  king  of  France. 
The  history  of  those  times  looks  very  different  accord- 
ing as  it  is  regarded  from  an  Italian  point  of  view,  or,  as 

.  is  more  usual,  from  that  of  a  German  partisan.  Henry  VI. 
was  cruel  and  false  to  a  degree  unheard  of  even  in  a 
mediaeval  monarch.  Rebellious  Sicilian  barons  he  ordered 
to  be  blinded,  to  be  tarred  and  burned ;  others  were  buried 
alive ;  one  had  a  red-hot  crown  nailed  to  his  head.  Henry 


THE   HOHENSTAUFEN  45 

forced  his  own  wife,  the  empress,  to  witness  this  spectacle, 
to  punish  her  for  sympathising  with  her  countrymen.  His 
early  death,  a  most  unexpected  chance  for  the  Church, 
was  a  relief  to  Italy.     People  dared  to  breathe  again. 

His  widow  found  herself  so  helpless  that  she  had  no 
other  resource  than  to  put  her  son  Frederick,  who  at  the 
time  of  his  father's  death  was  a  child  of  two  years,  under 
the  wardship  of  the  Pope.  In  this  way  she  hoped  she 
would  at  least  save  for  him  the  throne  of  Sicily.  In 
Germany  Otto  IV.  became  king  and  emperor. 

Pope  Innocent  IV.  saw  all  the  power  in  his  hands  which 
Gregory  VII.  had  claimed.  The  empire  and  Italy,  France, 
England,  Norway,  Aragon,  Leon,  Hungary,  and  Armenia, 
yielded  to  his  orders.  He  uttered  the  proud  words,  "As 
in  the  Lord's  Ark  of  the  Covenant  the  rod  lay  beside  the 
manna  of  His  grace,  thus  in  the  Pope's  breast,  with  the 
science  of  the  Divine  law,  lies  the  severity  that  destroys 
as  well  as  the  mildness  that  grants  mercy."  Fifteen  hun- 
dred archbishops,  bishops,  and  prelates  attended  the 
council  which  assembled  in  the  Lateran  in  the  year  121 5, 
and  which  was  meant  as  a  demonstration  of  the  power  of 
the  Church. 

The  unavoidable  conflict  between  Pope  and  Emperor 
broke  out  again,  the  election  of  a  Guelf  and  a  partisan  of 
the  Church  proving  of  no  avail.  The  quarrel  was  about 
the  imperial  dominions  in  Central  Italy,  especially  about 
the  estates  which  belonged  to  the  so-called  Matildan 
Inheritance.  The  great  countess  had  bequeathed  imperial 
soil  to  the  Church,  and  thus  created  another  source  of 
endless  trouble,  both  powers  claiming  the  estates  as  their 
own.  The  Hohenstaufen  prince  now  appeared  on  the 
scene,  as  the  instrument  of  the  Pope,  who  sent  his  ward 
against  the  Guelf  emperor.     But  first,  in  the  year  1220, 


46  DANTE  AND   HIS  TIME 

Frederic  II.  was  forced  to  swear  an  oath  to  Honorius  III., 
by  which  he  pledged  himself  never  to  unite  Sicily  with 
Germany,  and  to  respect  the  rights  of  the  Pope  in  Italy, 
an  oath  he  could  not  keep  without  breaking  that  which  he 
swore  as  Emperor  to  protect,  and  to  augment  the  rights  of 
the  empire. 

A  doubtful  peace  was  maintained  during  the  reign  of 
the  gentle  old  Pope  Honorius.  After  his  death,  Ugolino 
de'  Conti  was  elected  Pope  as  Gregory  IX.  He  appeared 
like  a  "  thunderbolt  from  the  south,"  as  his  biographer 
puts  it.  He  was  an  old  man  when  he  was  elected,  and  he 
held  the  see  fourteen  years,  yet  he  made  war  on  the 
Emperor  with  burning  rage  and  inexorable  will. 

The  Emperor  had  vowed  to  go  on  a  crusade,  but  could 
not  undertake  it,  owing  to  a  pestilence  which  broke  out  in 
his  army.  The  Pope  excommunicated  him ;  a  great 
assembly  of  clergy  filled  the  church  of  St.  Peter,  each 
holding  a  lighted  candle  in  his  hand.  The  Pope  enume- 
rated all  the  transgressions  of  the  Emperor,  then  he  pro- 
nounced the  sentence  of  the  curse,  all  the  priests  repeated 
it  and  hurled  their  candles  to  the  ground.  Circular  letters 
were  sent  by  both  parties  to  all  the  princes  of  the  Chris- 
tian world.  "  Tua  res  agitur,"  Frederic  cried  to  all  the 
kings ;  "  There  is  no  one  among  you  whose  power  would 
not  be  menaced  by  the  ambition  of  the  Church." 

The  Emperor  went  on  the  crusade,  notwithstanding  the 
Pope's  interdict ;  he  recovered  Jerusalem  by  a  treaty,  and 
when  the  Patriarch  refused  to  crown  an  excommunicated 
monarch,  he  put  the  crown  upon  his  head  with  his  own 
hands.  From  Arab  chroniclers  we  are  able  to  gather  most 
valuable  information  about  this  remarkable  man.  Out  of 
courtesy  to  the  Christian  emperor,  the  kadi  of  Jerusalem 
had  forbidden  the  muezzins  to  call  the  hours  of  prayer  for 


THE  HOHENSTAUFEN  47 

believers  from  the  minarets ;  but  Frederic  summoned  him 
to  an  audience,  and  forbade  him  to  interrupt  the  customary 
rites  for  his  sake,  and  is  said  to  have  added :  "  You  Mus- 
sulmans are  happy,  not  being  continually  bothered  and 
hindered  by  the  ambition  of  a  priest  like  him  of  Rome." 
The  Arab  writer  who  saw  him  describes  him  as  bald  and 
shortsighted,  and  says  that  as  a  slave  he  would  not  have 
been  of  much  value ;  then  he  adds  :  "  The  Emperor  was  a 
worshipper  of  nature,  who  made  light  of  the  Catholic 
creed,  which  was  but  a  show  and  a  plaything  for  him." 

Meanwhile,  the  Pope  had  preached  a  crusade  against 
him,  and  on  his  return  Christians  were  thrown  into  con-  ' 
sternation  by  seeing  two  armies  of  the  Cross  fighting 
against  each  other,  one  for  the  Pope,  under  the  banner  of 
St.  Peter's  Keys,  the  other  imperial,  under  the  sign  of  the 
Holy  Cross.  The  Emperor's  army  was  victorious,  the 
Pope  gave  in,  and  once  more  they  made  peace,  and  in 
1230  dined  in  Anagni  at  the  same  table.  But,  as  the 
Florentine  chronicler,  Villani,  says,  "  with  all  those  trea- 
ties of  peace  there  remained  an  evil  disposition  in  the 
hearts  of  both,"  and  as  a  Guelf  he  adds,  "  especially  on 
the  Emperor's  side  there  was  too  much  pride." 

The  peace  lasted  two  years,  until  a  new  discord  arose 
between  the  Emperor  and  the  Italian  towns.  Mantua 
closed  its  gates  to  him.  "What,"  the  Emperor  cried, 
"  pilgrims  may  walk  freely  around  the  earth,  and  I  am  to 
be  unable  to  move  within  the  borders  of  my  empire !  "  The 
towns  implored  the  protection  of  the  Pope,  and  in  1236 
Gregory  wrote  the  following  letter  :  u  The  necks  of  kings 
and  princes  are  bowed  at  the  feet  of  priests,  and  the 
Christian  emperors  are  bound  to  submit  their  actions  not 
only  to  the  Roman  Pope  but  to  all  the  clergy.  The  Lord, 
in  subjecting  the  whole  earth  and  all  things  visible  and 


48  DANTE  AND   HIS  TIME 

invisible  to  the  tribunal  of  the  Holy  See,  has  reserved  the 
latter  to  His  own  judgment  alone.  It  is  known  to  all  the 
world  that  the  world's  monarch,  Constantine,  with  the 
approbation  of  the  Senate  and  the  people  of  the  city  and 
of  the  whole  Roman  Empire,  decreed  it  to  be  right  that 
the  Vicar  of  the  Prince  of  the  Apostles,  being  the  ruler  of 
the  priesthood  and  of  all  the  souls  in  the  empire,  should 
wield  the  majesty  over  all  terrestrial  things  and  the 
bodies  of  men  also.  Thus  thinking,  that  he,  unto  whom 
God  has  conferred  celestial  power  on  earth,  must  needs 
be  Lord  and  Judge  in  all  temporal  matters  too,  Constantine 
bestowed  on  the  Roman  Pope  the  insignia,  and  the  sceptre 
of  the  empire,  the  city  with  its  dukedom — which  thou  art 
trying  to  seduce  with  thy  gold — and  the  empire  itself  to 
eternity.  Believing  it  to  be  impious  that  the  Emperor  of 
the  Earth  should  wield  any  power  in  the  place  where  the 
Head  of  the  whole  Christian  religion  is  enthroned  by  the 
Emperor  of  Heaven,  he  left  Italy  to  the  government  of 
the  Pope,  and  for  himself  he  chose  an  abode  in  Greece. 
From  thence  the  Holy  See  transferred  the  empire  to  the 
Germans  in  the  person  of  Charles,  who  humbly  took  upon 
himself  a  burden  too  heavy  for  the  Roman  Church  :  but 
by  conceding  to  thy  predecessors  the  Tribunal  of  the 
Empire  and  the  Power  of  the  Sword  by  coronation  and 
unction,  the  Pope  withal  never  renounced  anything  of  his 
sovereign  rights ;  but  thou  wrongest  those  rights  of  the 
Popes  and  thine  own  honour  and  fealty  no  less  if  thou 
dost  not  acknowledge  him,  who  is  the  owner  and  creator 
of  thy  power." 

It  is  obvious  how  the  true  relation  between  Pope  and 
Emperor  had  been  exactly  reversed  in  the  imagination  of 
an  age  which  had  but  a  very  dim  notion  of  the  real  history 
of  the  past. 


THE   HOHENSTAUFEN  49 

Constantine  had  never  regarded  the  Bishop  of  Rome 
but  as  an  insignificant  priest,  and  such  pretensions  would 
have  seemed  to  him,  and  even  to  Charles  sheer  madness. 
As  late  as  the  tenth  century  the  Emperor  Otto  III.  had 
smiled  when1  he  heard  of  the  fable  of  Constantine  and  his 
forged  Donation.  In  the  thirteenth  there  was  no  man  to 
doubt  it ;  even  the  most  earnest  Ghibellines  only  regretted 
that  things  were  so,  and  not  otherwise.     Dante  wrote : 

Ah  !  Constantine,  what  evil  came  as  child 
Not  of  thy  change  of  creed,  but  of  the  dower 
Of  which  the  first  rich  Father  thee  beguiled. 

and  Walther  von  der  Vogelweide,  the  German  minstrel, 
sang  : 

King  Constantine,  he  gave  so  much, 

As  unto  you  I  will  make  known, 
For  to  the  See  of  Rome  he  gave 

The  Spear,  the  Cross,  the  Crown. 
That  hour  an  angel  cried  in  pain  : 

"  O  woe  !  O  triple  woe  is  me !  " 
Once  Christendom  did  well  behave, 

But  then  upon  its  field  did  fall 
A  golden  poison's  rain  ; 

Its  honey  now  is  changed  to  gall, 
To  Thee,  sweet  Lord,  I  will  complain : 

The  priests  will  wrong  the  laymen's  right, 

Too  true  has  been  the  angel's  sight. 

Again  the  war  broke  out,  and  again  the  Emperor  was 
victorious.  "  Lift  up  your  eyes  round  about  and  see  .  .  ." 
so  he  wrote  to  the  princes.  And  the  Pope  answered  in 
the  same  style :  "  From  the  sea  is  arisen  a  beast  full  of 
names  of  blasphemy,  that  rages  with  the  paws  of  a  bear 
and  with  the  mouth  of  a  lion,  and  whose  body  is  shaped 
like  that  of  a  pard.  It  opens  its  mouth  to  hurl  blasphemies 
at  the  name  of  God,  and  rests  not  but  will  throw  similar 


50  DANTE   AND   HIS  TIME 

darts    against    His   Holy  of  Holies  and   the   Saints  of 
Heaven." 

This  Encyclical — so  an  English  chronicler  writes — 
would  have  aroused  all  the  world  against  the  Emperor 
but  that  the  Romish  Court  exacted  so  much  money  from 
all  parts  of  the  world.  Five  times  as  many  taxes  were 
paid  from  England  to  the  Pope  as  to  the  English  king 
himself.  The  nobility  of  France  assembled  in  a  Diet  of 
Nobles  to  consult  on  measures  to  be  taken  against  the 
unbearable  financial  claims  of  the  clergy ;  a  great  many 
pamphlets  of  the  time  breathe  a  fanatic  hatred  against 
them.  Dante,  passing  through  the  fourth  circle  of  Hell, 
where  covetousness  and  avarice  are  punished,  notices  that 
the  heads  of  many  of  the  sinners  are  shaven. 

On  the  death  of  Gregory  IX.,  Innocent  IV.  succeeded 
to  the  papal  throne ;  the  lion  was  followed  by  a  fox,  who 
was  still  more  dangerous  as  an  antagonist.  He  induced 
the  Emperor's  son  to  rebel  against  his  father ;  murderers 
who  conspired  against  Frederic's  life  received  the  Pope's 
blessing.  In  a  rescript  which  is  still  extant  they  are 
called  "the  brilliant  sons  of  the  Church,  on  whom  God 
has  shed  the  light  of  His  countenance." 

Still  the  Emperor  was  victorious.  His  generals, 
Ezzelino  Romano,  the  Lord  of  Padua,  the  Marquises  of 
Lancia  and  Pallavicini,  his  natural  sons,  Frederic  of 
Antioch,  Enzio  of  Sardinia,  and  Manfred  Lancia,  were 
everywhere  triumphant.  The  Pope  fled  to  France,  but 
all  the  princes  refused  to  receive  him  in  their  territories. 
He  then  summoned  a  council  at  Lyons,  which  at  that  time 
belonged  to  the  empire,  and  there  pronounced  the  deposi- 
tion of  the  Emperor.  This  was  in  the  year  1245.  "No 
peace  with  the  viper's  brood  !  "  was  the  Pope's  answer  to 
those  who  wanted  to  persuade  him  to  a  milder  course. 


s 


THE   HOHENSTAUFEN  51 

It  is  interesting  to  read  what  the  chroniclers  relate  of 
the  consequences  of  the  struggle.  "  My  soul  is  filled  with 
horror,"  writes  the  so-called  monk  of  Padua,  u  in  relating 
the  sufferings  of  my  time  and  the  destruction,  for  it  is 
now  full  twenty  years  that  for  the  sake  of  the  Apostolic 
See  and  the  imperial  throne  the  blood  of  Italy  has  been 
shed  like  water." 

Fra  Salimbene  of  Parma  writes :  "  In  the  days  of 
Emperor  Frederic,  particularly  after  he  was  deposed  from 
the  empire,  there  were  cruel  wars,  and  the  people  could 
neither  till  their  fields  nor  sow,  nor  reap,  nor  plant  vine- 
yards, nor  gather  the  grapes,  nor  dwell  in  villages ;  men 
were  unable  to  work  except  quite  near  the  towns,  where 
they  were  protected  by  the  knights  who  dwelt  in  them ; 
armed  warriors  guarded  the  workmen  the  whole  day  long, 
and  the  peasant  cultivated  the  fields  meanwhile.  And 
this  was  necessary  because  of  the  robbers,  marauders  and 
vagabonds,  whose  number  had  increased  beyond  all 
measure.  And  they  captured  men  and  threw  them  into 
dungeons,  that  they  should  ransom  themselves  with 
money.  And  they  drove  the  cattle  away  and  ate  them  or 
sold  them.  And  if  they  failed  to  ransom  themselves " 
[Brother  Salimbene  always  writes  in  great  haste  and 
excitement]  "they  hung  them  up  by  their  feet  or  by  their 
hands,  or  drew  their  teeth,  or  put  thorns  and  gags  into 
their  mouths,  that  they  should  ransom  themselves  the 
faster,  and  that  was  more  horrible  to  them  than  death. 
And  they  were  more  cruel  than  demons  are,  and  a  man  in 
these  times  liked  as  well  to  see  a  man  coming  along  his 
path  as  he  would  the  Devil.  And  the  country  fell  to  waste 
and  was  deserted,  because  there  were  no  peasants  in  the 
fields  and  nobody  walked  on  the  country  roads.  And  the 
birds  and  the  beasts  of  the  forests  multiplied  beyond  all 


52  DANTE  AND    HIS   TIME 

bounds,  pheasants  and  partridges  and  quails,  hares  and 
roes,  stags,  buffaloes,  boars  and  rapacious  wolves.  For 
they  no  longer  found  food  near  the  villages,  lambs  and 
sheep  as  before,  because  the  villages  were  all  burnt,  and 
therefore  the  wolves  gathered  in  great  packs  around  the 
ditches  of  the  towns,  and  howled  unceasingly  because 
their  hunger  was  too  great.  And  by  night  they  entered 
the  towns  and  devoured  men,  who  slept  in  the  colonnades 
or  on  carriages,  and  the  women  and  little  children  too. 
Sometimes  they  even  dug  through  the  walls  of  the  houses 
and  they  tore  the  little  children  to  pieces  in  the  cradles. 

"  Nobody  would  believe  it  who  did  not  see  it  with  his 
own  eyes,  all  the  horrors  which  I  saw  perpetrated  in 
those  times  by  men  as  well  as  by  beasts  of  all  kinds. 
Yes,  I  have  seen  with  my  own  eyes  two  foxes  climbing 
the  roof  of  the  convent  of  St.  Francis,  near  Faenza,  to 
catch  two  fowls  sitting  on  the  cornice.  And  one  of  them 
we  caught,  and  I  was  present." 

Italy  was  rent  by  the  hatred  of  parties — provinces  and 
countries  stood  against  each  other,  the  nobility  was 
divided,  each  town  made  war  on  the  neighbouring  town, 
and  within,  two  exasperated  parties  fought  one  against 
the  other. 

"  I  had  rather  eat  chalk  than  make  peace  with  the 
Church,"  said  the  Lord  of  Sesso.  "  But,"  continues 
Brother  Salimbene,  who  relates  this  saying  in  his 
chronicle,  "  he  fed  on  good  capons  while  the  poor  people 
famished.  Need  I  say  more  ?  The  luck  of  the  bad  is 
not  of  long  duration  in  this  world,  and  those  of  the 
Church's  side  had  the  best  of  the  war,  and  that  miserable 
man  was  constrained  to  fly  and  was  secretly  carried  away 
from  the  town  of  Reggio,  and  stinking,  excommunicated, 
without  confession,  deprived  of  the  Lord's  Supper,  bereft 


THE   HOHENSTAUFEN  53 

of  peace  he  left  the  world,  and  was  dug  into  the  ground  of 
a  village  near  Campagnola." 

Among  the  atheists:  and  heretics  in  the  sixth  circle  of 
Hell  the  great  Florentine  citizen  Farinata  degli  Uberti 
lies  in  his  fiery  coffin,  and  to  Dante's  boast  that  the 
Guelfs  were  again  victorious  in  Florence  the  shadow 
answers  : 

"  That  hurts  me  more  than  does  this  bed  of  fire ! " 

At  his  side  lies  buried  the  Cardinal  Ottaviano  degli 
Ubaldini,  who  once  said,  "  If  the  soul  exists,  I  have  lost 
mine  for  the  sake  of  the  Ghibellines." 

The  fierce  dissension  of  the  parties  became  such  a 
terrible  and  murderous  plague  to  the  land  that  people 
forgot  the  origin  of  the  words,  and  fabled  that  two  devils 
called  Gibel  and  Guelef  had  been  let  loose  from  Hell  to 
divide  the  world,  and  that  from  them  the  two  parties  had 
derived  their  names.* 

Barefoot,  clad  in  black  robes  with  red  crosses,  the  pro- 
cessions of  Flagellants  marched  through  the  country, 
carrying  branches  and  flaming  candles  in  their  hands,  a 
great  number  of  little  children  among  them ;  they  went 
from  town  to  town  continually  crying,  "  Pax  !  pax !  " 
The  spectacle  of  those  processions  occasioned  an 
enormous  emotion,  and  filled  the  minds  of  the  people 
with  terror  and  confusion.  The  Emperor's  generals, 
Manfred  and  the  Marquis  of  Pallavicini,  prevented  them 
from  entering  the  regions  under  their  command,  and  the 
Lords   Delia  Torre,   who   ruled   in   Milan,   ordered    six 

*  The  names,  in  truth,  originated  from  the  castle  of  Waiblingen  in 
Swabia,  which  was  a  fief  of  the  Hohenstaufens,  and  which  in  Italian 
was  corrupted  into  ••  Ghibellino,"  and  "  Welf,"  a  frequent  name  among 
the  Saxon  Dukes  of  Bavaria,  the  leaders  of  the  opposite  party  in 
Germany. 


54  DANTE  AND   HIS  TIME 

hundred  gallows  to  be  raised,  on  which  Flagellants  should 
be  hanged ;  to  warn  them  from  entering  the  territory  of 
their  town. 

The  tables  were  turned  indeed,  and  the  Emperor's  had 
become  the  losing  party.  The  victory  of  the  Parmese, 
and  the  destruction  of  his  camp  at  Victoria,  the  rebellion 
and  death  of  his  son  Henry,  the  capture  of  Enzio  by  the 
Bolognese  ;  so  many  disasters  following  in  quick  succes- 
sion upon  each  other  broke  his  spirit.  None  in  his  bril- 
liant House  equalled  him.  By  many  of  his  adversaries  he 
was  believed  to  be  Antichrist  in  person,  and  that  the  old 
prophecy,  according  to  which  Antichrist  was  to  be  born 
of  an  old  nun,  should  seem  fulfilled,  they  spread  the  fable 
that  Constance  had  been  a  nun  before  she  married  King 
Henry.  He  was  fair-haired,  of  graceful  bearing,  not  very 
tall — none  of  the  Hohenstaufens  were — shortsighted  and 
prematurely  bald.  He  had  been  brought  up  in  Italy,  and 
in  character  was  half  German,  half  Southerner.  "  He 
was  a  man,"  the  Guelf  Villain  says,  "  of  great  ability  and 
bravery,  erudite  and  of  graceful  deportment,  universal  in 
everything  ;  he  understood  Latin  and  the  language  of  our 
people,  German,  French,  Greek  and  Saracenic ;  he  was 
endowed  with  all  manly  virtues,  generous,  a  courteous 
giver,  gallant  and  wise  in  war,  and  very  much  feared  by 
his  enemies.  He  was  voluptuous  in  every  way  and  led  a 
luxurious  life,  and  he  was  a  heretic  and  an  epicurean, 
and  he  did  not  believe  in  a  life  beyond  the  grave,  and 
therefore,  above  all,  he  was  an  enemy  of  the  clergy  and  of 
the  Holy  Church." 

Even  Brother  Salimbene,  who  begins  thus,  "  Of  the 
true  faith  he  had  not  a  whit;  he  was  sly,  astute,  covetous, 
and  voluptuous,  malicious,  and  irascible  ..."  and  follows 
it  up  with  many  lines  yet  fuller  of  reproaches  and  a  whole 


THE   HOHENSTAUFEN  55 

catalogue  of  various  sins,  concludes  by  saying,  u  Cour- 
teous he  was,  and  gay,  frolicsome,  charming,  and  much 
gifted." 

He  seems  a  most  remarkable  man  to  us  also;  the 
founder  of  the  first  state  in  Europe  which  had  a  modern 
and  centralised  government  and  administration ;  for 
Frederic's  kingdom  of  Sicily  was  the  first  absolute  state. 
He  was  fond  of  pleasure  and  of  a  joyful  spirit,  as  all 
Hohenstaufens  were ;  he  liked  banquets  and  feasts ;  he 
was  the  author  of  several  songs,  passionate  and  endowed 
with  talents  of  all  kinds.  There  was  no  science  in  which 
he  did  not  take  an  interest ;  he  was  the  author  of  books  on 
hunting  and  the  treatment  of  horses.  Many  renowned 
scholars  formed  part  of  his  Court,  and  the  library  was  his 
particular  care.  He  sent  letters  to  Moorish  philosophers 
in  Spain,  to  learn  what  they  thought  on  deep  spiritual 
questions.  Jews  and  Saracens  filled  important  positions 
at  his  Court,  his  bodyguard  was  composed  of  Saracens, 
and  an  oriental  harem  followed  him  on  all  his  travels  and 
expeditions  of  war.  He  was  said  to  have  talked  of  "  the 
three  Impostors  who  founded  the  three  chief  religions  of 
the  world  " ;  yet  the  same  man  persecuted  heretics  in  his 
empire  and  crowned  the  corpse  of  St.  Elizabeth.  He 
may  have  done  so  from  political  motives,  perhaps  inwardly 
deriding  himself  and  the  spectators  of  the  pious  cere- 
mony. 

He  appears  to  us  full  of  contradictions,  and  we  are 
unable  to  get  at  his  true  character  because  we  see  his 
reflected  portrait  only,  the  great  impression  which  he 
made  on  the  minds  of  men,  but  not  his  true  self.  It  is 
difficult  for  us,  almost  impossible,  to  understand  any  men 
of  those  far-distant  times,  to  analyse  their  character, 
because  all  that  formed  and  influenced  it  is  strange  and 


56  DANTE  AND   HIS  TIME 

unknown  to  us  ;  how  much  more  difficult  to  understand 
so  complicated  a  character  as  that  of  this  monarch,  who 
stood  on  the  verge  of  two  periods !  Many  of  his  letters 
are  extant,  but  written  as  they  are  in  stiff  Latin,  and  in 
the  ceremonious  style  of  his  chancellor,  they  do  not  betray 
the  soul  of  the  man.  His  true  being  remains  hidden. 
We  can  only  note  the  immense  impression  which  he  made 
on  Guelfs  and  Ghibellines,  Saracens  and  Christians  alike, 
and  that  the  world  trembled  at  his  steps.  We  may  note 
the  impression  he  made  and  the  deep  marks  he  left  in 
the  memories  of  men,  in  the  numberless  tales  and  fables, 
in  which  he  plays  a  part  no  less  than  in  the  works  of 
chroniclers  and  poets,  and  in  the  charm  which  surrounds 
him  to  this  day,  who,  as  the  chronicler  expressed  it, 
"  lived  glorious  and  a  wonder  to  all  the  earth  until  the  last 
day  of  his  fate,  who  was  invincible  to  all,  and  subject  only 
to  the  law  of  Death  ! " 

He  died  in  the  arms  of  his  son  Manfred  on  Decem- 
ber 13,  1250,  at  Fiorentino,  in  Southern  Italy.  German 
and  Saracen  knights  escorted  the  corpse,  covered  by  a 
scarlet  cloth,  to  Palermo.  But  the  Pope  wrote  a  letter : 
"  Let  the  Heavens  rejoice,  and  let  the  earth  be  glad." 

In  the  tenth  canto  of  Hell  the  great  Frederic  lies 
in  the  sixth  circle,  with  a  large  number  of  his  followers  in 
fiery  coffins  among  those  who  had  no  faith. 

But  in  Germany  the  people  would  not  believe  in  his 
death,  they  fabled  that  he  had  hidden  himself  in  the 
mount  of  Kyffhauser,  and  would  once  return  with  the 
glory  of  the  old  empire.  Much  later,  when  the  remem- 
brance grew  dim,  people  confounded  him  with  Frederic 
the  Redbeard,  his  grandfather,  who  became  the  hero  of 
this  legend.  In  Italy,  too,  Salimbene  tells,  people  long  dis- 
trusted the  news  of  his  death,  according  to  the  prophecy  : 


THE   HOHENSTAUFEN  57 

Sonabit  et  in  populis  : 

Vivit  et  non  vivit. 

(Among  the  peoples  will  be  said 

He  is  alive  and  not  alive  !) 

But  the  Emperor  was  dead  indeed  ;  and  when  his  sons 
Conrad  IV.  and  Manfred  had  fallen  after  short  reigns, 
and  then  Conradin  too — each  a  brilliant  meteor-like  ap- 
parition— the  house  of  Anjou  came  into  Italy ;  new  wars, 
new  times,  a  new  era "of  the  world's  history  declared  itself, 
the  true  Middle  Ages  were  over. 


CHAPTER  VI 

SOCIAL    CONDITIONS 

The  time  of  Dante  was  a  time  of  fermentation  and  change 
in  the  political  as  well  as  in  the  economical  and  intellectual 
life  of  Europe. 

The  theme  of  history  is  the  development  of  mankind. 
It  is  the  record  of  all  the  changes  in  the  state  of  men 
which  have  occurred  since  the  first  evidences  of  our  race 
on  our  globe ;  all  the  many  changes  in  their  ways  of 
living,  of  procuring  food  and  shelter,  of  preserving  and 
adorning  their  lives ;  the  changes  of  government,  and  of 
the  relations  between  rulers  and  subjects,  rich  and  poor* 
powerful  and  oppressed ;  the  changes  of  customs,  opinions, 
aims,  ideals,  and  fancies.  These  changes  take  place  some- 
times very  gradually,  at  others  rapidly,  but  the  most 
important  are  generally  imperceptible  and  even  if  we  try  to 
trace  the  development  either  over  a  large  territory  or  over 
a  small  one,  we  shall  invariably  find  that  it  progresses  at 
a  very  unequal  rate,  that  new  ideas  always  affect  a  few 
men  first,  that  a  few  institutions  are  the  first  to  be  altered 
or  to  become  extinct,  while  the  mass  of  men  grows  but 
slowly  conscious  of  the  change.  Then  it  spreads  rapidly 
and  its  results  often  manifest  themselves  in  sudden  revolu- 
tions. The  development  always  is  more  rapid  in  some 
countries  than  it  is  in  others,  and  there  again  it  may  be 


SOCIAL   CONDITIONS  •   59 

accelerated  in  some  particular  provinces  or  even  places. 
It  is  for  that  reason  that  at  all  times  and  everywhere 
institutions  and  forms  of  the  past — religions,  laws,  customs, 
systems  of  economy — are  to  be  found,  obsolete  and  fos- 
silised amidst  the  vital  and  prosperous  growths  of  the 
day,  while  the  first  germs  and  buds  of  those  to  come 
already  begin  to  sprout  in  the  midst  of  the  old.  It  is  for 
that  reason  that  in  almost  every  century  there  are  men 
whose  thoughts  become  the  general  opinion  of  future 
generations,  who  are  ahead  of  their  contemporaries  by 
decades  and  even  by  whole  centuries,  and  others  who  by 
their  views  and  ways  of  living  belong  to  the  past.  Men 
capable  of  discerning  which  ideas  and  which  institutions 
are  decaying  and  doomed  to  perish,  and  which  are  still 
vital  or  destined  to  be  victorious  in  the  future,  are  very 
rare,  and  this  question  is  at  the  bottom  of  all  social  and 
political  disputes. 

In  our  own  time  means  of  communication  and  com- 
merce having  reached  a  height  hitherto  undreamt  of,  the 
nations  being  continually  mixed  up  and  brought  into 
touch  with  one  another,  while  every  event,  every  new  dis- 
covery and  experiment  is  quickly  known  all  over  the 
civilised  world,  the  development  is  faster,  as  well  as  more 
evenly  distributed,  than  it  was  in  the  Middle  Ages. 
Mediaeval  men  and  mediaeval  institutions  were  more  rigid  | 
and  immovable  than  ours,  but  at  the  same  time  were  less 
uniform  and  monotonous. 

To  form  a  fairly  just  conception  of  the  immense  majority 
of  mediaeval  men  we  must  study  those  countries  in  which 
.  in  our  own  time,  though  the  elements  be  the  same,  modern 
civilisation  is  least  developed.  In  the  alpine  villages  of 
Europe,  remote  from  the  great  lines  of  communication, 
villages  inaccessible  except  by  footpaths  and  roads  for 


60        *        DANTE  AND   HIS  TIME 

ox-carts,  where  men  live  in  narrowest  catholic  bigotry, 
where  the  priest  is  the  only  person  who  possesses  more 
or  less  knowledge,  there  we  shall  find  a  state  of  life  which 
will  most  resemble  that  of  the  Middle  Ages.  Certain  like- 
nesses in  the  political  system  may  be  found  in  the  feudal 
states  of  the  Indian  Rajahs,  and  still  more  in  the  Albanese 
parts  of  the  Balkan,  where  the  institutions  of  clans  and 
chieftains,  the  continual  inroads  and  robberies,  feuds  and 
vengeances,  the  general  insecurity  and  the  necessity  of 
self-help,  may  remind  us  of  very  prominent  features  of 
mediaeval  life.  Wherever  the  observance  of  forms  is 
most  rigid  and  formalities  are  most  valued,  where  the 
least  amount  of  knowledge  and  the  greatest  superstition 
prevail,  slow  and  undeveloped  habits  of  thought  combined 
with  brutal  and  vehement  passions,  coarseness  and  in- 
sipidity in  the  sense  of  humour,  cruelty  in  punishment 
and  a  certain  unconscious  respect  of  persons  in  high 
offices,  of  ceremonies  and  titles  of  all  kind,  there  the  state 
of  men  is  most  similar  to  the  mediaeval  state.  These  are 
certainly  the  darker  sides  of  mediaeval  life,  but  in  them 
especially  may  be  found  the  most  marked  difference 
between  the  civilised  world  of  our  days  and  the  world  of 
those  times. 

Nobody  will  ever  understand  life  as  it  was  in  the  Middle 
Ages,  to  whose  mind  the  scarcity  and  difficulty  of  com- 
munication, the  bad  and  dangerous  roads,  the  small 
number  of  highways,  and  as  a  consequence  of  this  the 
wide  separation  of  places  and  the  uncertainty  of  all  news, 
are  not  continually  present.  What  to-day  is  an  easy 
trip  of  a  few  hours  was  then  a  long  and  dangerous  journey, 
which  nobody  could  think  of  undertaking  without  an 
armed  escort.  The  only  possibility  of  travelling  to  a 
somewhat  remoter    place  without  running  the  greatest 


SOCIAL  CONDITIONS  61 

risks  was  to  join  the  train  of  some  great  lord  or  ambas- 
sador who  went  the  same  way,  or  some  great  trade- 
caravan,  such  as  a  number  of  merchants  undertook  or 
equipped  in  common.  Letters  had  to  be  sent  in  the  same 
way,  or  by  wandering  monks,  pilgrims,  or  daring  pcdlers. 
It  took  months  and  years  to  send  a  letter  and  receive  an 
answer  from  a  distant  country,  and  the  eventual  receipt 
of  such  was  very  uncertain.  In  a  time  like  this,  numerous 
legends  and  fables  were  certain  to  spread  and  rule  the 
life  of  the  day.  Thus  provinces  and  countries  were  more 
remote  and  separated  from  one  another  than  are  continents 
to-day,  a  centralised  and  uniform  government  of  a  ter- 
ritory of  any  extent  was  quite  impossible :  the  land  had 
to  be  divided  and  given  up  to  the  government  of  smaller 
lords  and  the  feudal  system,  the  splitting  of  countries  into 
the  countless  little  states  of  the  Middle  Ages  was  a 
necessary  result. 

What  are  the  much  criticised  and  much  derided  little 
kingdoms  and  duchies  of  the  former  German  Confedera- 
tion (which  in  itself  was  but  a  remnant  of  those  times) 
compared  to  the  numberless  little  units,  states,  dukedoms, 
city  republics,  dynasties,  acknowledged  or  not  by  the 
empire,  their  great  suzerain  power,  which  then  were  to  be 
found  on  the  smallest  area  ? 

Who  can  enumerate  all  the  more  or  less  independent 
governments  of  Italy  in  the  thirteenth  century  ?  "  Italy 
is  my  inheritance  and  the  whole  world  knows  it ! "  were 
the  proud  words  which  Emperor  Frederic  wrote  to  the 
Pope  in  the  year  1236.  But,  in  fact,  the  state  of  things 
was  not  so  clear.  Only  the  South,  the  kingdom  of 
Naples  and  Sicily,  might  be  called  a  unified  country,  but 
its  existence  was  not  of  long  date.  A  hundred  and  fifty 
years  earlier  it  had  been  divided  into  the  Saracen  and 


62  DANTE  AND   HIS  TIME 

Greek  provinces,  into  the  Longobard  dukedoms  of  Bene- 
vento,  Capua  and  Salerno,  in  the  courts  of  which  the  old 
German  Longobard  language  still  was  spoken,  the  Norman 
counties,   the   republics  of  Naples,    Gaeta,   Amalfi,   and 
other  smaller  baronies,  which  all  had  now  become  fiefs  of 
the  kingdom,  but  remained  nowise  in  undisturbed  peace 
with  one  another.     Frederic  II.,  however,  had  ruled  the 
kingdom  with  iron  energy,  he  established  a  centralised 
and  absolute  government  in  it,  and  ever  since  his  death 
it  has   remained  the  most  homogeneous  State  of  Italy. 
But  in  the  Central  parts  and  in  the  North  we  find   a 
motley  confusion.     There  were  the  States  of  the  Church 
with  all  their  contested  provinces,  the  feudal  estates  of 
their  vassals,  families  who  were  always  rebelling  against 
the  Pope  and  always  fighting  with  one  another,  then  the 
debatable  fiefs  of  the  empire,  the  marquisates  of  Tuscany, 
Spoleto,  Ancona,  &c,  the  estates  of  the  Marquises   of 
Montserrat,  of  Este,  of  Malaspina,  of  Pallavicini  and  of 
the  smaller  Counts  of  the  Empire,  the  territories  of  the 
spiritual  Lords,  and  particularly  the  innumerable  city- 
republics,  many  of  which  already  began  to  change  into 
civic  dynasties,  and  whose  political  position,  doubtful  in 
law  and  of  undoubted  power  in  fact,  was  soon  to  become 
the  most  important  of  all.     And  all  these  powers  were 
contested,  and  at  war  among  themselves.     Every  territory 
was    continually   splitting    up    and    developing   smaller 
administrative  units,  every  one  of  which  instantly  tried  to 
become  as  independent  as  possible  and   to  enlarge   its 
estate  at  its  neighbour's  expense.     There  was  no  vassal- 
count  who  would  not  rather  have  been  a  Count  of  the 
Empire,  no  town  but  tried  to  free  itself  from  the  super- 
intendence of  the  imperial  marquis  and  to  govern  itself, 
no  bishop  but  wanted  to  be  ruler  and  lord  of  his  town 


SOCIAL   CONDITIONS  63 

and  diocese,  no  city  that  did  not  strive  to  make  its  bishop 
a  citizen  and  its  subject.  Nor  was  there  any  common 
established  law  to  smooth  all  this  confusion.  All  was 
founded  on  custom,  prescription,  old  writs  of  princes  dead 
long  ago,  privileges,  statutes,  and  treaties,  which  were 
constantly  violated  and  broken  by  the  natural  develop- 
ment of  things.  The  only  common  ruler  and  supreme 
judge,  the  Emperor,  was  far  away,  his  power  fluctuating 
and  unsteady,  now  in  dimmest  distance  or  of  such 
impotence  that  people  sneered  at  it,  again  threateningly 
near  and  terrible  to  all;  the  execution  of  his  orders 
depending  now  on  the  goodwill  of  his  subjects,  again  on 
the  force  and  position  of  his  army.  If  he  had  long  been 
away  in  Germany  he  was  half-forgotten ;  at  his  Diets  or 
at  the  provincial  assemblies  of  his  Legates  the  nobles  and 
the  consuls  of  the  towns  thronged  to  get  the  confirmation 
and  renewal  of  their  old  rights  and  privileges  or  the 
granting  of  new  ones,  every  demand  being  opposed  to 
that  of  some  neighbour ;  troops  of  jurists  were  occupied 
with  bringing  order  into  the  confusion,  of  course  without 
any  effect,  when  by  their  very  profession  they  had  to 
found  their  decisions,  not  on  the  living  growth  of  men 
and  institutions,  but  on  dead  and  antiquated  words,  forms 
and  rules  which,  yet  more  to  confuse  matters,  were  them- 
selves contested.  Whoever  was  not  pleased  with  their 
decision,  whoever  inclined  to  the  Church,  or  felt  himself 
powerful  enough  to  do  as  he  liked,  kept  aloof,  and  refused 
all  obedience,  taxes  and  military  service.  No  emperor 
ever  marched  through  the  country  to  his  capital  without 
encountering  resistance  at  every  step,  finding  the  door  of 
every  second  town  closed  to  him  and  his  way ;  if  at  all 
victorious,  marked  by  the  smoking  ruins  of  burnt  pities 
and  castles. 


64  DANTE  AND   HIS  TIME 

Every  few  miles  the  traveller  found  a  new  government 
and  new  laws ;  if  he  went  a  little  farther,  coinage,  customs, 
dress,  and  even  the  language  of  the  people  were  different, 
for  the  many  dialects  of  Italy  were  practically  so  many 
tongues — a  common  Italian  language  for  the  use  of  well- 
bred  people  and  literature  had  scarcely  begun  to  develop. 
There  is  no  shade  in  Dante's  Hell  or  Heaven  who  does 
not  at  his  first  word  recognise  him  as  a  Tuscan.  Every 
hour  almost  the  traveller's  way  was  barred,  and  a  toll, 
lawful  or  unlawful,  was  exacted. 

He  might  chance  to  be  in  a  place  which  was  "  imperial 
land  "  and  governed  by  an  official  count,  that  is,  an  officer 
nominated  by  the  Emperor ;  but  part  of  it  might  belong 
to  a  convent  or  to  the  estate  of  a  nobleman  invested  with 
"  immunity,"  that  is,  exempt  from  the  count's  justice,  but 
whose  lords  themselves  dealt  justice  in  their  possessions. 
A  little  farther  on,  the  country  perhaps  was  subject  to  the 
republic  of  Florence,  but  the  family  of  some  feudal  Count 
of  the  Empire,  whose  castle  might  be  seen  on  the  neigh- 
bouring hills,  would  claim  it  as  his,  or  perhaps  two  towns 
might  be  quarrelling  about  the  ownership  of  both  village 
and  castle,  or  some  bishop's  men  might  be  found  fighting 
for  the  Episcopal  See  of  the  nearest  cathedral.  The 
political  system,  under  the  rule  of  which  such  a  state  of 
things  was  possible,  the  mediaeval  system  of  both  govern- 
ment and  administration,  is  known  as  the  "  feudal  system," 
the  system  of  dividing  the  country  and  bestowing  it  on 
smaller  rulers. 

Landed  estate  and  political  power  were  always  con- 
nected. The  king  was  the  greatest  landlord,  and  there- 
fore sovereign  of  the  whole  country  ;  he  granted  "  in  fee," 
as  it  was  called,  large  estates  to  the  lords,  his  vassals,  who 
by  this  were  bound  to  be  true  to  him  and  to  do  military 


SOCIAL  CONDITIONS  65 

service  for  him  whenever  he  required  it,  but  in  all  other 
respects  were  sovereigns  of  the  land  they  had  received ; 
they  in  turn  naturally  granted  land  under  similar  condi- 
tions to  smaller  lords,  who  in  their  turn  leased  it  to 
peasants  and  serfs.  The  king  and  the  greater  lords  also 
bestowed  estates  on  their  officers,  so-called  "fiefs  of 
office,"  because  they  knew  no  other  way  of  paying  them. 
All  these  fiefs,  though  at  first  "  lent "  to  this  or  that 
person  for  life,  soon  became  hereditary,  the  government 
or  the  office  was  inherited  with  the  estate,  and  estate, 
office  and  government  soon  became  inseparably  connected. 
This  was  not  always  the  case,  nor  everywhere,  but  it  was 
the  general  course  things  took.  It  was  but  a  natural 
consequence  that  the  smaller  vassals  felt  themselves  more 
bound  to  the  greater  vassals,  their  lords,  than  to  the  king, 
and  held  rather  to  the  first,  whose  fathers  had  been  served 
by  their  fathers,  and  who  always  had  been  nearer  them, 
than  to  the  latter ;  in  this  way  the  feudal  lords  were  in  a 
position  to  fulfil  their  duties  to  the  king  only  when  they 
were  friendly  to  him,  or  saw  their  own  advantage  in  it, 
or  could  be  forced  to  do  so.  Hence  the  relatively  small 
power  of  mediaeval  kings  and  the  continual  rebellions  of 
their  vassals ;  hence,  too,  the  powerlessness  of  so  many 
Roman  emperors. 

Infinite  were  the  variety  and  the  degrees  of  the  rela- 
tions in  which  men  stood  to  the  soil,  the  essential,  and  for 
a  long  period  even  the  only  valuable,  possession  in  the 
Middle  Ages.  The  freedom  or  the  servitude  of  the  person 
always  was  in  proportion  to  the  amount  of  power  wielded 
over  the  soil ;  and  thus  numerous  degrees  of  feudal  dig- 
nity—(of  "  estates  ")— may  be  traced  and  enumerated  from 
the  sovereign  lord,  the  vassal  princes,  and  the  feudatory 
counts,  barons,  and  citizens  down  to  the  "  servant "  or 


66  DANTE  AND   HIS   TIME 

retainer,  the  peasant,  the  yeoman,  and  finally  to  serfs  and 
slaves.  Numberless  varieties  and  combinations  of  the 
individual's  position  and  personal  rights  were  caused  by 
the  nature  of  his  tenure.  A  peasant  might  hold  in  abso- 
lute ownership,  while  a  knight  held  of  some  count  or 
baron.  Again,  in  every  profession,  among  officials, 
warriors,  citizens,  and  peasants,  men  in  three  different 
positions  of  civil  right,  freemen,  retainers,  and  serfs  might 
be  found.  The  natural  consequence  of  this  was,  that  in 
the  course  of  time  all  these  classes  mingled  and  changed 
very  much,  but  considering  only  one  and  the  same  period 
they  were  sharply  and  strictly  divided,  caste-like,  by  posi- 
tion, honours,  and,  generally,  by  their  dress  as  well.  The 
finer  materials  and  ornaments,  silk,  velvet,  gold,  pearls, 
and  laces,  the  nicer  colours  of  red  and  purple  generally, 
were  reserved  for  the  higher  classes  by  law  and  ordinance. 
The  lower  had  to  content  themselves  with  coarse  cloth. 
Hence  the  motley  aspect  and  the  variety  of  colours  in 
every  mediaeval  group. 

The  Germans  had  by  their  conquest  carried  this  system 
into  all  countries  of  Europe.  Clumsy  as  it  was,  it  was 
the  one  best  suited  alike  to  their  state  of  culture  and  to 
the  condition  into  which  by  thorough  devastation  they 
had  put  the  ancient  countries.  The  richly  developed  com- 
merce of  antiquity  had  all  but  ceased  to  exist ;  the  ruined 
towns  had  lost  all  importance ;  money  existed  but  in 
inconceivably  small  quantity.  Money  has  become  too  slow 
for  the  immense  commercial  life  of  to-day,  and  numberless 
paper  substitutes,  bank-notes,  bills  of  exchange,  cheques, 
and  clearing-houses  have  been  made  necessary  and  in- 
vented to  supersede  it,  but  the  commercial  views  of  the 
Middle  Ages  worked  with  such  a  slow  pulse  that  not  even 
money  was  wanted  to  carry  them  out.     This  was  the  time 


SOCIAL   CONDITIONS  67 

of  barter,  the  raw  produce  of  the  soil  being  the  general 
means  of  payment  and  measure  of  value  instead  of  money. 
Taxes  and  rent  were  paid  in  kind,  the  value  of  things  was 
reckoned  in  it. 

The  peasant  paid  to  his  lord  a  certain  amount  of  work, 
fixed  by  the  number  of  working-days  on  which  he  had  to 
toil  not  for  his  own  but  for  the  landlord's  profit ;  then  a 
certain  number  of  cattle,  measures  of  corn  or  wine,  and 
the  like  ;  the  villager  consulting  an  attorney  or  physician 
took  a  few  fowls  to  pay  him.  Movable  property,  which 
requires  sharper  wit  and  better  appliances,  greater  security 
and  division  of  labour  to  make  its  production  possible,  and 
which  to-day  forms  the  chief  part  of  the  wealth  of  nations, 
was  as  nothing  compared  to  immovable  possessions,  and 
even  those  were  turned  to  account  in  a  very  primitive 
way. 

It  may  furnish  a  good  picture  of  the  time  to  read  what 
revenue  a  Florentine  nobleman  of  the  twelfth  century 
drew  from  one  of  his  villages.* 

From  four  acres  f        .    twelve  days  of  work  a  year. 

„  twelve  acres  .  Albergaria,  that  is,  the  right  of  the  lord 
and  consequent  duty  of  the  villagers 
to  lodge  and  feed  a  certain  number  of 
men  for  a  certain  amount  of  time. 

„  „  „  .     Six  denari  {  and  two  hens. 

„     one  farm  .     A  hog,  a  lamb,  fifty-two  days  of  work, 

and  Albergaria. 

„  another  farm  .  Four  soldi,§  work  in  the  vineyard  accord- 
ing to  the  landlord's  need,  four  hens, 
four  loaves  of  bread,  Albergaria,  and 
an  "  adiutorium,"  which  is  to  be  paid 
every  third  year,  &c. 

*  Reprinted  from  an  old  document  by  Davidsohn,  "  Geschichte  von 
Florence,"  i.  p.  308.  t  Starior,  an  old  Florentine  measure. 

%  A  silver  coin.  §  A  gold  coin. 


68  DANTE  AND   HIS  TIME 

From  this  budget  it  is  evident  how  different  were  the 
revenues  from  different  farms ;  they  were  obviously  not 
regulated  according  to  the  real  value  of  the  land,  but 
resulted  from  the  different  manner  and  time  of  acquisition, 
and  were  founded  on  old  treaties,  prescriptions,  and  very 
often  on  violence. 

But  public  laws  were  as  various  in  different  districts  and 
towns  as  private  rights  in  particular  cases.  Rights  in 
general  were  seldom  fixed  by  law  for  the  whole  population 
of  a  country,  or  at  least  for  large  classes  of  it,  but  were 
mostly  derived  from  privileges  granted  to  individuals  or  to 
corporations.  Besides,  there  were  eternal  conflicts  about 
judicial  competence ;  nobody  could  exactly  know,  and 
everybody  contested,  which  cases  the  lord  and  proprietor 
could  decide  by  his  own  authority,  which  were  reserved  to 
the  tribunal  of  the  town,  or  to  that  of  the  imperial  officers, 
to  which  office  the  parties  had  to  appeal,  and  what,  after 
all,  was  worth  decision,  for  it  is  obvious  that  against  a 
powerful  opponent  a  sentence  was  quite  unavailing,  unless 
the  plaintiff  could  make  himself  sure  of  the  assistance  of 
some  still  greater  power.  The  Middle  Ages,  therefore, 
were  the  time  in  which  the  most  long-winded,  undying  law- 
suits may  be  found  combined  with  and  interrupted  by 
bloody  self-help.  A  lawsuit  between  the  Episcopal  Sees 
of  Siena  and  Arezzo — and  afterwards  between  the  towns 
themselves  too — about  eighteen  parishes  which  both 
bishops  claimed  for  their  own,  lasted  from  the  beginning 
of  the  eighth  until  the  thirteenth  century ;  it  survived  all 
changes  of  governments,  falls  of  dynasties  and  growths 
of  new  races ;  innumerable  were  the  acts,  sentences, 
appeals,  commissions,  and  wild  wars  which  it  occasioned. 

We  must  always  think  of  mediaeval  countries  as  of  one 
large  scene  of  fighting.     Besides  the  greater  wars,  all  the 


SOCIAL   CONDITIONS  69 

knights  and  villagers  were  constantly  in 
arms  against  each  other,  the  cause  being  now  a  disputed 
piece  of  ground  and  now  a  personal  offence,  an  undying 
feud  between  two  families,  a  questioned  right,  the  dan- 
gerous growth  of  a  rival  town,  or  no  cause  at  all  but  the 
love  of  warfare  and  plunder.  In  such  cases  it  became  very 
dangerous  to  leave  the  fortified  places  and  walk  or  ride  in 
the  open  country ;  to  work  in  the  fields  or  go  to  church 
became  impossible.  Each  of  these  small  expeditions 
began  by  burning  and  devastating  the  houses  and  fields, 
by  capturing  the  retainers  and  the  cattle  of  the  opponent; 
this  incessant  state  of  war  became  such  a  nuisance  and 
ruin  for  the  country,  that  in  France  it  led  to  the  institu- 
tion of  the  "  Treuga  Dei  "  or  "  God's  truce."  The  Church 
commanded,  under  severe  spiritual  penalties,  all  men  to 
refrain  from  all  quarrelling  from  Saturday  until  Tuesday, 
and  to  be  satisfied  with  the  liberty  of  killing  each  other 
on  the  three  days  from  Wednesday  to  Friday.  Of  course 
the  prohibition  was  of  no  avail.  In  one  of  the  songs  of 
the  Provencal  baron,  Bertrand  de  Born,  a  stanza  runs 

thus: 

I,  sirs,  am  for  war, 

Peace  giveth  me  pain, 
No  other  creed 

Will  hold  me  again. 

On  Monday,  on  Tuesday,  whatever  you  will, 

Day,  week,  month,  or  year  are  the  same  to  me  still. 

The  pernicious  famines  of  the  Middle  Ages  were  a 
natural  consequence  of  these  incessant  devastations  and 
reprisals,  which  ruined  enormous  portions  of  the  produce. 

Such  was  the  state  of  things  when,  in  their  very  midst, 
the  germs  of  a  thorough  revolution  began  to  develop  by 
the  rise  and  growth  of  cities.     Men  in  those  times  had 


i 


70  DANTE   AND   HIS  TIME 

even  less  clear  ideas  of  their  own  state  and  of  its  neces- 
sary consequences,  of  what  had  been  and  what  was  to  be, 
than  have  we.  To-day  we  have  at  least  a  certain  know- 
ledge of  the  past,  of  the  origin  and  gradual  development 
of  our  own  state ;  we  study  besides  all  the  details  of  the 
present,  and  therefore  are  in  a  position  to  recognise  the 
direction  which  some  of  the  great  currents  of  our  own 
time  will  most  probably  take,  though,  of  course,  we,  too, 
are  subject  to  the  law  of  perspective,  according  to  which 
nobody  can  find  a  right  point  of  view  from  which  to  survey 
a  landscape  in  which  he  himself  stands,  a  law  as  true  of 
time  as  it  is  of  space. 

The  most  important  social  phenomenon  of  those  times 
was  the  growth  of  the  cities.  The  men  in  power  had  not 
the  slightest  presentiment  of  their  importance,  and  as  the 
powers  of  the  past  will  ever  do  against  those  of  the 
future,  they  instantly  undertook  a  hopeless  warfare 
against  them. 

Our  civilisation  is  founded  on  the  institution  of  cities ; 
as  we  have  already  seen  was  the  case  with  ancient  culture. 
Only  through  the  existence  of  towns  and  the  consequent 
concentration  of  forces,  division  of  labour,  the  constant 
friction  and  reciprocal  influence  of  all  forms  of  talent,  which 
were  impossible  without  them,  could  sufficient  forces  be 
developed  and  set  free  to  produce  what  we  call  u  culture." 
Modern  civilisation  also  is  founded  and  even  more  dependent 
on  the  existence  of  towns.  Yet  it  may  be  said  that  our 
civilisation  is  already  undergoing  a  change.  The  immense 
expansion  and  the  rapidity  of  communication  spreads  it 
over  the  open  country  too,  while,  on  the  other  hand,  it  has 
withdrawn  in  some  degree  from  the  smaller  provincial 
towns,  and  has  concentrated  its  central  workshops  in  a 
few  great  cities  with  new  advantages  and  new  mischiefs. 


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FROM  THE  FRESCO  BY  ORCAGNA 


SOCIAL  CONDITIONS  71 

The  cosmopolitan  character  of  those  cities  is  in  itself 
sufficient  to  be  considered  a  symptom  of  a  new  era. 
Nevertheless,  our  civilisation  is  still  founded  on  or  made 
possible  by  the  existence  of  towns,  and  is  a  consequence 
of  town  life,  from  which  it  derives  its  character,  and  not 
of  country  life.  And  its  origins  may  be  traced  back  to 
the  twelfth  and  the  thirteenth  centuries. 

When  the  Germans  invaded  the  empire,  towns  were 
still  unknown  to  them ;  those  which  they  found  in  the 
conquered  lands  were  ruined  as  much  as  possible,  and  the 
new  lords  of  the  soil  took  no  notice  of  their  existence. 
When  the  Longobards  divided  Italy  into  thirty-five  duke- 
doms, they  did  this  without  any  regard  to  the  towns, 
and  in  the  place  of  the  municipal  system  of  the  Roman 
administration  they  made  the  county  the  basis  of  theirs, 
entirely  disregarding  the  different  conditions  of  town  life 
and  country  life,  and  not  making  any  distinction  in  the 
administration  of  either.  Towns  to  them  were  places  in 
which  foolish  people  lived  and  thronged  together  in  a 
curious  way ;  a  life  which  necessarily  appeared  to  them 
as  unnatural  and  unhealthy  as  to-day  that  of  our  towns 
must  appear  to  a  Red  Indian. 

But  the  towns  recovered  nevertheless ;  and  in  that 
state  of  general  confusion  the  greater  concentration  of 
men  inside  their  walls  gave  them  a  stronger  power  of 
resistance ;  as  castles  were  used  as  places  of  refuge  in 
times  of  danger  by  the  peasants  dwelling  in  their  neigh- 
bourhood, the  walls  of  the  cities  were  a  castle  and  a 
refuge  to  the  whole  region.  In  Germany  towns  were  first 
founded  to  enable  the  border  people  to  resist  the  inroads 
of  the  Hungarians.  Remnants  and  indications  of  the  old 
municipal  constitution  of  the  Romans  seem  to  have  been 
preserved  in  Italy  in  some  way  or  other.   The  Latinirace, 


72  DANTE  AND   HIS  TIME 

too,  formed  the  stock  of  the  population,  and  the  feudal 
system  never  really  took  root  in  Italy.  Its  institutions 
were  but  superficial,  and  never  became  so  thoroughly  the 
political  constitution  of  the  country,  as,  for  instance,  in 
France  or  in  Germany. 

Commerce  and  handicraft  slowly  revived,  and  both 
produced  a  certain  amount  of  capital.  The  expansion  and 
growing  intensity  of  the  first  made  greater  quantities  of 
money  necessary.  It  was  coined  on  a  large  scale  in  the 
Italian  towns,  and  from  them  streamed  into  the  treasuries 
of  princes  and  knights.  Thus  men  gradually  returned 
from  barter  to  a  monetary  system  of  economy. 

In  time  the  townsmen  began  to  be  conscious  of  their 
force,  then  pride  and  love  of  liberty  arose  in  their  breasts, 
and  in  the  twelfth  century  the  city  communes  first  stood 
as  an  equal  factor  by  the  side  of  princes  and  lords,  too 
powerful  to  be  overlooked  by  Pope  or  Emperor. 

In  them  and  around  them  the  mediaeval  features  no 
doubt  prevailed  ;  still,  the  first  small  beginnings  of  modern 
life  were  not  wanting.  There  democracy  was  born  after 
long  and  arduous  struggles.  In  the  mediaeval  country  there 
were  but  masters  and  serfs,  in  towns  the  idea  of  free  citizen- 
ship for  all  had  its  origin.  Gradually,  on  the  devastated 
ground  a  certain  amount  of  property  available  for  civilisa- 
tion was  created.  As  little  as  a  man  walking  on  a  wintry 
night,  hungry,  chilled,  fighting  against  wind,  rain  and 
snow,  in  constant  fear  of  robbers  and  wild  beasts,  will 
think  of  anything  but  of  how  to  get  on  and  reach  home, 
so  little  could  men  in  the  terrible  struggle  for  life  in  the 
early  Middle  Ages  find  time  to  devote  any  part  of  their 
forces  to  intellectual  occupations.  Only  the  most  pro- 
tected class  of  all,  the  clergy,  could  attempt  it,  so  far  as  it 
was  possible.     Material  goods  had  to  be  produced,  better 


SOCIAL  CONDITIONS  73 

lodging  and  furnishing,  more  favourable  conditions  ot 
life,  riches  and  greater  security  were  necessary  before 
sufficient  intellectual  force  could  be  set  free  to  work  for 
itself  and  men  enabled  to  enjoy  life,  knowledge  and  the 
production  of  those  admirable  playthings  which  we  call 
works  of  art,  and  which  at  once  are  the  most  superfluous 
and  the  most  necessary  things  in  life. 


CHAPTER  VII 

MEDIEVAL  KNOWLEDGE 

The  principal  aim  of  every  mediaeval  man  was  his  soul's 
salvation.  Adopting  the  same  word  in  an  altered  sense, 
we  may  say  that  to-day  also  a  man's  principal  aim  and 
object,  even  if  he  be  not  religious  in  a  dogmatic  or 
orthodox  sense,  is  still  the  same.  Instead  of  "  salvation," 
say  "  integrity  of  soul "  and  a  life  as  noble  and  fruitful  as 
possible,  and  you  will  have  expressed  the  aim  of  the 
greatest  and  best  men  of  our  era,  of  men  like  Goethe  and 
Emerson,  or  other  teachers  of  the  present  time,  knd 
though  the  difference  is  marked  by  the  very  words,  though 
they  prove  how  much  more  actual  and  earthly  the  ideal  has 
become,  the  deepest  meaning  has  remained  the  same. 
However  little  earthly  may  have  been  Dante's  ideal,  so 
long  as  he  lived  in  this  world  of  ours,  though  his  sole  aim 
may  have  been  to  prepare  his  soul  for  another  world,  he 
had  to  do  it  on  earth.  He,  too,  teaches  us  to  purify  our 
lives  and  to  "  lift  our  aims,"  with  the  sole  difference  that 
he  teaches  in  accordance  with  the  dogmas  of  the  Catholic 
Church  and  uses  its  stern  symbols  in  his  language.  But 
neither  is  an  unearthly  element  lacking  in  the  belief  of  the 
best  and  most  aspiring  of  modern  men,  though  their 
mysticism  may  use  more  universal  signs,  flowing  symbols 
instead  of  the  stiff  and   "  frozen "  forms  of  the  Middle 


MEDIEVAL   KNOWLEDGE  75 

Ages.  Yet  they  are  able  to  drink  the  pure  water  of  the 
spirit  from  any  source,  and  Dante,  with  his  severe  catholic 
imagery,  teaches  them  no  less  than  he  taught  the  disciples 
of  his  own  time. 

But  if  leaving  the  few,  who  are  aspiring  and  great- 
minded,  we  look  at  the  multitude  of  men,  there  can  be  no 
doubt  whatever  that  religion,  its  precepts,  questions  and 
forms,  filled  and  ruled  the  inward  and  outward  life  of 
mediaeval  men  in  a  much  higher  degree  than  in  our  own 
time.  Even  those  who  led  the  most  savage  lives  were 
seized  by  the  terrible  idea  of  Hell,  the  ardent  longing  for 
Paradise,  at  every  moment  in  which  they  awoke  from  wild 
combats  and  bloodshed  for  the  goods  and  honours  of  this 
earth,  or  from  brutish  and  voluptuous  pleasure.  The 
time  when  the  Son  of  Man  had  walked  on  earth  and 
suffered  for  their  redemption  lay  not  yet  so  far  behind 
them,  and  the  flames  of  Hell,  the  glories  of  Paradise,  stood 
before  them  in  terrible  reality  to  choose  between,  over- 
powering all  their  thoughts  and  all  their  feeling. 

Religion  absorbed  and  embraced  all  other  fields  of  life, 
faith  was  the  sovereign  virtue,  and  it  was  but  natural 
that  the  occupation  with  religious  questions  called 
"  theology  "  became  almost  the  only  occupation  of  the 
mind. 

A  period  which  demands  a  uniform  orthodox  belief 
cannot  be  favourable  to  criticism  and  doubt.  Without 
doubt  and  criticism  true  science  is  impossible.  A  thinker 
who  is  forced  to  arrive  at  certain  conclusions  and  results 
cannot  think  freely;  a  man  who  is  not  allowed  to  adopt 
what  he  finds  or  thinks  to  be  true,  but  must  needs  adopt 
a  truth  fixed  beforehand  and  by  others,  cannot  be  an 
honest  investigator.  In  fact  the  results  of  mediaeval 
science  amount  to  nothing,  and  the  reawaking  investiga- 


76  DANTE  AND   HIS  TIME 

tion  of  the  Renaissance  had  to  begin  afresh  where  antique 
science  had  halted. 

It  is  self-evident  that  there  was  neither  knowledge  nor 
science  in  the  times  of  utter  savagery,  the  time  from  the 
sixth  to  the  eleventh  century  ;  the  so-called  science,  which 
was  cultivated  in  convents,  does  not  deserve  the  name. 
To  be  sure  the  convents  did  estimable  service  by  pre- 
serving the  sparks,  which  one  day  could  again  break  into 
living  flames. 

The  ancient  studies  of  the  Latin  part  of  the  population 
had  decayed,  not  only  in  consequence  of  the  endless 
misery  and  the  inroads  of  the  barbarians,  but  still  more 
perhaps  through  the  hostile  spirit  of  the  Church,  which 
regarded  them  only  as  tokens  of  pernicious  paganism. 
Sentences  from  the  letters  of  St.  Paul  like  the  following  : 
"  The  wisdom  of  this  world  is  foolishness  with  God " ; 
"  Knowledge  puffeth  up  " ;  "  Who  seemeth  to  be  wise  in 
this  world,  let  him  become  a  fool,  that  he  may  be  wise," 
had  been  valuable  and  much-used  weapons  against 
haughty  philosophers  who  had  opposed  the  new  lore  with 
superficial  contempt.  But  the  spirit  of  those  sentences 
necessarily  led  to  consequences  inimical  to  science  at 
large.  As  early  as  the  fourth  century,  even  before  the 
decay  of  ancient  culture,  Eusebius  wrote :  "  It  is  not 
ignorance  which  makes  us  think  lightly  of  science  in 
general,  but  contempt  of  its  useless  labour,  while  we  turn 
our  souls  to  better  things."  In  the  sixth  century  Pope 
Gregory  the  Great  warned  the  Gallic  bishop  Desiderius  in 
a  letter  to  beware  of  the  study  of  heathen  literature, 
"  because  the  praise  of  Christ  and  the  praise  of  Jove  are 
not  compatible  in  one  mouth."  In  the  tenth  century,  the 
time  of  utter  barbarism,  the  Abbot  Leo  of  San  Bonifazio 
wrote :   "  The    successors    of   St.    Peter  wish   for    their 


MEDIEVAL   KNOWLEDGE  77 

teachers  neither  Plato  nor  Virgil,  nor  Terence,  nor  any 
other  of  the  philosophic  cattle."  When  in  the  year  999 
that  memorable  and  exceptional  man,  Gerbert  of  Rheims, 
became  Pope  under  the  name  of  Sylvester  II.,  a  man  who 
knew  the  ancients,  who  occupied  himself  with  astronomy 
and  owned  geometric  instruments,  he  soon  was  regarded 
by  those  around  him  as  a  sinister  and  dangerous  wizard, 
who  had  pledged  himself  to  the  Evil  One  to  become 
Pope,  and  when  he  died  there  was  no  doubt  in  people's 
minds  but  that  the  Devil  had  really  come  and  fetched  him. 
Thus  on  every  hand  all  powers  had  combined  to  lay  waste 
the  fields  of  human  thought.  In  vain  had  Charlemagne 
and  Otto  III.  striven  to  revive  the  schools ;  neither  time 
nor  people  were  sufficiently  ripe  for  it,  the  schools  decayed, 
especially  in  the  desolate  Italian  provinces  ;  a  man  who 
was  able  to  read  was  a  marvel,  and  even  among  the  clergy 
boundless  ignorance  was  often  prevalent.* 

A  change  came  with  the  eleventh  and  twelfth  centuries  ; 
schools  and  universities  arose,  erudite  laymen  were  not 
only  possible,  but  even  began  to  play  an  eminent  part  in 
the  intellectual  life  of  the  period. 

The  amount  of  knowledge  possessed  by  a  generation 
will  certainly  influence  the  minds  at  least  of  its  most  pro- 
minent men  ;  and  Dante,  though  conservative  in  his  aims 
and  objects,  and  far  from  being  a  freethinker,  was  cer- 
tainly one  of  the  most  enlightened  and  erudite  men  of  the 
age.  From  the  point  of  view  of  modern  ideas,  Dante  and 
his  works  will  never  be  understood.  In  the  brains  of  <m»T' 
ancestors  another  world  was  reflected  than  in  ours,  every 

*  The  German  poet  Hartmann  v.  d.  Aue,  who  lived  in  the  twelfth 
century,  begins  his  song  of  "  Poor  Henry  "  with  the  praise  : 
"  There  was  a  knight,  who  such  a  scholar  was, 
That  he  the  letters  in  a  booke  could  reade." 


78  DANTE  AND    HIS   TIME 

step  they  took  was  made  on  another  soil,  and  every  action 
they  performed  founded  on  other  views  than  those  of  our 
life.  The  very  world  into  which  they  were  born  seemed 
other  to  their  eyes  than  to  ours. 

The  men  of  antiquity,  and  the  great  majority  of  men  in 
the  Middle  Ages,  lived  on  a  solid  disk,  the  limits  of  which 
were  the  final  limits  of  the  universe.  Over  this  disk  rose 
a  solid  blue  crystal  vault,  on  which  sun,  moon  and  stars 
were  fixed  as  lamps  are  on  the  ceiling ;  behind  this  vault 
dwelt  the  gods,  just  as  below  the  ground  was  spread  the 
empire  of  the  dead.  In  this  concave  space  between  the 
surface  of  the  earth  and  the  vault  of  heaven  lived  and 
died  the  races  of  "  speaking  men,"  and  around  the  earth 
flowed  the  stream  Oceanus,  separating  it  from  the 
mysterious  foundations  of  heaven.  One  need  but 
change  the  mythological  names,  and  one  has  the  ideas 
of  the  great  masses  in  the  Middle  Ages,  and  even  of  many 
of  our  time. 

The  cultivated  classes  of  the  later  periods  of  antiquity 
and  of  the  Middle  Ages  held  more  enlightened  views, 
founded  on  the  system  of  the  Egyptian  astronomer 
Claudius  Ptolemaeus,  who  taught  that  the  earth  was 
shaped  like  a  sphere  and  stood  in  the  centre  of  the 
universe,  while  the  sun,  the  moon  and  the  other  planets 
revolved  around  it.  Long  before  Ptolemy,  Plato  and 
Aristotle  had  taught  the  same  doctrine,  and  it  is  not  at 
all  impossible,  nor  even  improbable,  that  they  themselves 
were  but  following  the  opinions  of  previous  thinkers. 

More  than  that ;  full  four  hundred  years  before  Ptolemy, 
the  Alexandrine  astronomer,  Aristarchus  of  Samos,  had 
asserted  that  the  sun  was  the  true  centre  of  the  universe, 
and  that  the  earth  gyrates  around  it  as  well  as  turns  on 
its  own  axis,  so  that  the  apparent   course   of  the   sun 


MEDIEVAL   KNOWLEDGE  79 

around  the  earth  was  but  an  illusion.  But  he  had  no 
success  with  his  doctrine— mathematics  and  instruments 
had  not  reached  a  sufficient  perfection  to  enable  him  to 
prove  it.  Seventeen  centuries  had  to  pass  before  Nicholas 
Copernicus  carried  the  same  doctrine  to  victory  by  his 
irrefutable  calculations,  after  a  hard  fight  against  the 
Church. 

That  is  one  of  the  many  proofs  that  modern  science 
had  everywhere  to  begin  anew  at  the  point  to  which  antique 
science  had  just  attained,  and  that  the  Middle  Ages  were 
simply  a  gap,  a  dead  standstill  in  the  history  of  empiric 
science. 

What  a  chasm  separates  our  perception  of  the  world 
from  that  of  the  ancients  !  They  lived  in  a  small  concave 
hollow  in  the  midst  of  a  solid  and  limited  universe — we, 
disciples  of  Giordano  Bruno,  live  on  a  tiny  convex  kernel 
in  the  midst  of  boundless  space.  The  mediaeval  theory, 
that  of  Ptolemy,  is  a  middle  point  between  the  two 
systems. 

Our  system  is  divided  from  both  by  a  difference  of 
incalculable  weight;  the  older  systems  were  both  geo- 
centric— that  is  to  say,  the  earth  was  the  centre  of  the 
universe  ;  while  for  us  the  sun  has  not  even  remained  in  the 
central  place ;  the  sun,  too,  with  all  the  planets,  is  but  one 
of  the  innumerable  fixed  stars,  the  earth  no  more  than  an 
unimportant  little  moon,  a  small  satellite  of  the  fixed  star 
we  call  our  sun.  Parallel  with  this  change  in  our  view  of 
the  universe  went  another  change,  which  makes  us  see  all 
life  in  another  light.  Not  only  the  geocentric  theory  has 
come  to  a  timely  end,  but  the  anthropocentric  theory  also. 
Man,  too,  is  no  longer  the  central  being  of  the  universe 
and  of  nature ;  we  no  longer  believe  that  this  whole  world 
was  created  for  man's  use — man,  too,  is  but  one  of  the 


80  DANTE  AND   HIS  TIME 

innumerable  passing  phenomena  of  Nature — there  is 
nothing  to  justify  him  in  the  belief  that  the  importance 
which  he  has  in  his  own  eyes  is  allotted  to  him  in  the 
plan  of  creation.  The  modern  man  has  become  more 
modest  than  the  man  of  former  times,  he  no  longer  thinks 
himself  the  principal  being,  the  end  and  the  consummation 
of  the  world,  nor  his  earth  the  central  point  of  the 
universe ;  he  knows  that  he  is  but  the  ephemeral  inhabi- 
tant of  a  small  island  in  boundless  space. 

This  was  not  so  in  the  time  of  Dante;  the  whole 
universe  was  narrower,  smaller,  more  limited,  and  even 
cosier,  if  I  may  use  the  word ;  not  immense,  endless,  dis- 
solving, unimaginable,  incomprehensible  to  the  under- 
standing as  ours  is.  The  earth  was  still  its  centre,  and 
human  beings  the  race  for  which  it  had  been  made ;  and 
around  the  earth  revolved  the  firmament  with  its  stars. 
The  vault  of  heaven  consisted  of  nine  gigantic  spheres 
fitting  into  each  other;  on  the  first  seven  the  seven 
planets  were  fastened :  the  Moon,  Mercury,  Venus,  the 
Sun,  Mars,  Jupiter,  and  Saturn. 

These  heavenly  spheres  turn  daily  around  the  earth, 
while  the  planets  glide  slowly  along  them  in  tjie  opposite 
direction,  "as  an  ant  creeps  along  a  large  revolving 
wheel."*  The  eighth  heaven  is  that  of  the  fixed  stars ; 
the  ninth  bears  no  stars  at  all,  but  is  composed  merely  of 
clear  transparent  matter,  and  is  called  the  "crystalline 
heaven "  or  "  Primum  Mobile,"  because  it  gyrates  with 
incredible  rapidity,  and  is  the  first  of  the  movable 
heavens,  for  "  beyond  all  those  heavens  Catholics  place 
the  Empyreum,  which  means  fire-heaven,"  which  is  im- 
movable and  in  eternal  rest.  "  That  is  the  seat  of  the  most 
high  God,  who  alone  sees  Himself  in  His  fulness ;  it  is  also 
*  So  Brunetto  Latini  in  his  "  Tesoro,"  ii.  40. 


MEDIEVAL   KNOWLEDGE  81 

the  seat  of  the  blessed  spirits,  as  Holy  Church  teaches, 
who  cannot  lie.  And  Aristotle,  too,  seems  to  any  man, 
who  understands  him  rightly,  to  be  of  this  same  opinion 
in  the  first  book  of  'Heaven  and  the  World.'  This  is 
the  sovereign  edifice  of  the  world,  in  which  the  universe 
is  enclosed,  and  beyond  it  is  nothing ;  itself,  too,  is  not 
in  space,  but  created  only  in  the  creative  spirit,  the 
primary  intellect,  which  the  Greeks  call  ■  Protonous.' "  It 
is  Dante  who  speaks  thus  in  the  fourth  chapter  of  the  second 
book  of  the  "  Banquet,"  and  he  says  also  that  the  ardent 
longing  "  of  every  particle  of  the  crystalline  heaven  to  be 
united  with  every  particle  of  the  most  divine  tranquil 
heaven  "  is  the  cause  of  the  vertiginous  movement  of  the 
first.  By  it  this  movement  is  imparted  to  the  lesser 
spheres,  and  thus  love,  the  longing  for  union  with  God, 
becomes  the  motive  force  of  the  universe.^, 

The  farther  down  we  go  the  slower  becomes  the  rota- 
tion, until,  separated  from  the  smallest  heaven,  that  of  the 
moon,  by  a  zone  of  flames,  the  earth  lies  heavy  and  im- 
movable, enveloped  by  the  cloudy  air.  Under  it  is  the 
funnel  of  hell,  reaching  down  to  its  centre,  where,  farthest 
from  God,  at  the  centre  of  gravity,  Satan  has  his  dwelling. 
The  southern  hemisphere  is  covered  by  water,  from  which 
arises  one  single  island  with  the  mount  of  Purgatory.  In 
the  centre  of  the  northern  hemisphere  lies  Jerusalem,  the 
place  where  the  Lord  descended  upon  earth,  where  He 
became  man  and  lived  and  suffered.  This  hemisphere  is 
inhabited  by  fi  erring  man  "  ;  below  it  are  the  evil  spirits 
and  the  souls  of  the  damned,  high  above  it  the  blessed 
spirits  have  their  mansion  in  the  ten  heavens.* 

*  Dante's  doctrine  is  that  the  tenth  spiritual  heavenJ&--4be--T8ar" 
mansion  of  the  blessed,  and  that  "only  their  phantoms  appear  in  the 
nine  heavens  which  are  in  space. 

F 


82  DANTE  AND   HIS  TIME 

That  is  the  world  of  Dante.  How  grand  is  his  concep- 
tion, how  spiritual,  the  structure  of  the  universe  passing 
gradually  from  earthly  grossness  into  pure  spirituality! 
The  whole  system  is  a  reflection  in  space  of  the  evolution 
of  man's  history,  the  central  fact  of  the  world  as  well  as 
of  history  being  the  passage  from  the  Fall  of  Man  to  his 
Salvation,  the  descent  of  God  upon  earth  and  the  elevation 
of  man  into  heaven. 

In  Rome  resided  God's  viceroy  upon  earth,  the  Vicar  of 
Christ,  the  spiritual  regent  of  men  during  their  terrestrial 
life.  The  situation  of  the  earth  in  the  centre  of  creation 
was  very  important  to  the  Church  ;  the  very  system  of  the 
universe  seemed  to  enhance  the  Pope's  importance.  It  is 
easy  to  understand  why  the  Catholic  Church  so  strongly 
opposed  the  doctrine  of  Copernicus  :  when  the  earth  was 
no  longer  the  capital,  but  only  a  remote  little  province  of 
God's  universe,  the  Church  could  never  more  attain  to  that 
world-ruling,  sky-reaching  importance  which  it  had  held 
before. 

Not  every  erudite  man  of  the  Middle  Ages  had  such  a 
deep  symbolical  view  of  the  world  as  Dante,  not  every 
one  was  able  to  see  it  interwoven  and  penetrated  by  such 
deep  spiritual  connections.  But  the  mechanical  structure 
which  I  have  described  was  generally  adopted  by  the 
mediaeval  scholar.  It  bears  all  the  signs  of  mediaeval 
thought,,  which  was  never  founded  on  experiment  and 
investigation,  but  on  imagination  and  authority.  There 
never  was  a  time  when  so  little,  and  at  the  same  time  so 
much,  was  known  as  in  the  Middle  Ages,  for  people  really 
knew  everything ;  they  had  ready  explanations  for  every 
phenomenon  ;  very  clever  explanations  they  often  were, 
but  always  untested  ;  whatever  was  or  seemed  possible, 
whatever  could  be  made  plausible  in  words  was  imme- 


MEDIEVAL   KNOWLEDGE  83 

diately  accepted ;  people  did  not  like  to  doubt,  and  even 
the  impossible  could  be  dealt  with  and  accepted  as  a 
miracle. 

The  positive  science  of  the  Middle  Ages  was  limited  to 
a  small  number  of  traditions  from  the  ancients,  corrected  ac- 
cording to  the  Bible,  and  later  on  augmented  by  a  few  facts 
drawn  from  Arab  scholars.  In  astronomy,  mathematics, 
in  the  whole  region  of  natural  science,  men  had  not  at  the 
end  of  the  period  got  one  step  farther  than  at  the  begin- 
ning. They  had  adopted  ancient  learning  with  all  the 
fables  inherited  from  the  ancients,  who  themselves  had 
scarcely  found  the  method  of  empiric  investigation,  and 
they  eagerly  added  thereto  any  new  fiction  they  met  with. 
The  notions  of  nature,  of  history,  of  life  in  a  scholar's 
brain  as  well  as  in  that  of  a  peasant  were  a  chaotic  mass 
bi^strange  legends,  fables,  and  fantastic  errors. 

In  the  15th  canto  of  the  "  Divine  Comedy,"  Dante,  wan- 
dering through  the  third  region  of  the  seventh  circle  of 
hell,  sees  the  naked  souls  of  those  who  have  sinned 
against  nature  running  on  glowing  sands  along  the  banks 
of  a  river  of  blood,  while  a  continual  fiery  snow  falls 
slowly  and  ceaselessly  upon  them.  One  of  these,  in  pass- 
ing, snatches  at  Dante's  robe  and  cries  out : 

"  O,  marvellous  ! "  and  though  the  sinner's  face  is  quite 
"  baked  "  by  the  flames,  Dante  recognises  him  and  cries  : 
"  Is  it  you,  Ser  Brunetto  ?  "  and  later  on  he  says  : 

"  Well  I  remember— and  it  paineth  me — 
The  dear  paternal  face  of  him  who  taught 
How  man  may  stride  into  eternity !  " 

It  is  Ser  Brunetto  Latini,  renowned  in  the  thirteenth 
century  as  a  great  Florentine  scholar  and  statesman. 
When  the  Guelf  party  was  expelled  he  became  an  exile, 


84  DANTE   AND   HIS  TIME 

and  while  living  in  France  he  wrote  in  French  an  encyclo- 
paedia of  the  knowledge  of  his  time,  or,  as  he  himself  styled 
it,  "A  condensation  of  all  the  many  parts  of  philosophy 
to  a  short  summary."  Such  encyclopaedias  had  been 
composed  ever  since  the  ninth  century ;  the  farther  back 
we  go  the  more  fantastic  they  become.  Dante  himself 
attempted  a  popular  work  of  this  kind  in  the  "  Banquet," 
and  he  did  it  in  a  most  original  way,  as  he  did  everything, 
but  the  work  was  never  completed  and  remained  frag- 
mentary. Brunetto's  book  stands  about  on  the  level  of 
the  period,  and  is  doubly  interesting  to  us,  as  Dante  ex- 
pressly styles  him  his  master.  He  called  it  "  Li  tresors  " 
("  The  Treasure"),  and  wrote  it  in  French,  but  it  was  soon 
translated  into  Italian. 

In  this  book,  after  a  short  classification  of  the  different 
sciences,  he  first  relates  the  most  notable  facts  of  history. 
He  conscientiously  begins  with  the  creation  of  the  world, 
of  angels  and  devils,  of  whom  he  assures  us  that  scarcely 
an  hour  after  their  creation  they  fell ;  then  he  proceeds  to 
the  creation  of  man,  tells  of  Original  Sin,  and  gives  a  short 
account  of  nature  and  the  functions  of  the  human  soul. 
Then  follows  patriarchal  history  according  to  the  Bible, 
and  adorned  by  some  corrupted  fragments  of  Greek  my- 
thology. He  tells  of  Nimrod  and  his  son  Cres,  the  first 
king  of  Greece,  whose  son  and  successor,  Jupiter,  became 
Lord  of  Athens.  Jupiter  had  two  sons,  Darius  and  Dar- 
danus,  and  with  this  we  arrive  at  the  Trojan  war  and  the 
flight  of  iEneas  to  Italy  ;  he  enumerates  the  kings  of  Italy 
up  to  the  foundation  of  Rome,  adding  that  Rome  was 
founded  4324  years  after  the  destruction  of  Troy.  In  a 
former  chapter  he  told  of  the  kings  of  England,  who  were 
all  descended  from  Brutus,  a  son  of  iEneas  ;  in  the  next 
chapter  he  relates  the  conspiracy  of  Catilina,  then  the 


MEDIEVAL   KNOWLEDGE  85 

story  of  Julius  Caesar,  then  that  of  the  kings  of  the  Franks, 
who  were  likewise  descended  from  two  fugitive  Trojan 
"barons,"  Antenor  and  the  younger  Priam.  The  next 
forty-seven  chapters  are  devoted  to  the  history  of  the  king- 
dom of  Israel  and  the  foundation  of  Christendom,  and 
then  four  chapters  to  the  story  of  the  Roman  Empire  until 
Frederick  II. ;  the  first  is  told  as  the  Bible  tells  it,  the 
latter,  in  spite  of  its  brevity,  is  full  of  gross  errors. 

This  work  of  Brunetto  is  a  type  of  many  similar  his- 
tories written  in  the  Middle  Ages  with  a  fantastic  variety 
of  contents. 

Having  thus  exhausted  history,  the  author  turns  to 
cosmology  and  gives  information  about  the  four  elements 
of  which  all  matter  is  composed ;  he  explains  how  they 
are  distributed  throughout  the  world  according  to  their 
gravity,  and  how  the  mixture  of  the  four  elements  in  the 
composition  of  corporeal  beings  causes  them  to  live  in 
higher  or  lower  regions  and  makes  their  nature  either 
more  lively  or  more  phlegmatic.  So  the  birds  live  in  the 
air,  because  there  is  more  of  the  elements  of  fire  and  air 
in  their  composition.  The  four  temperaments  correspond 
to  the  four  elements.  But  there  exists  in  addition  a  fifth 
element  called  "  Orbis,"  "  which  has  nothing  of  nature  in 
it,"  but  is  noble  and  indestructible,  and  is  the  stuff  of 
which  the  heavens  and  spirits  are  made.  He  explains 
why  the  world  is  round,  and  what  is  the  origin  of  rain, 
snow,  wind  and  thunderstorms,  inextricably  mixing  truth 
and  falsehood.  We  are  informed  that  there  are  clouds  in 
which  winds  are  enclosed ;  these  clouds  are  driven  against 
each  other  as  balloons  are,  and  by  the  noise  of  their  colli- 
sion produce  the  thunder,  and  by  their  friction  the 
lightning. 

A  description  of  the  structure  of  the  universe  follows 


86  DANTE   AND   HIS   TIME 

next,  which  on  the  whole  resembles  that  adopted  by  Dante. 
Here  we  learn  the  dimensions  of  the  mediaeval  world,  for 
Ser  Brunetto  knows  that  the  circumference  of  the  earth 
measures  exactly  20,427  Lombard  leagues  in  length  ;  the 
size  of  the  sun  is  just  166^5-  times  as  great,  while  the 
distance  of  the  firmament,  that  is  of  the  heaven  of  the 
fixed  stars,  from  the  earth,  is  10,066  times  as  long  as  the 
earth's  diameter.  Short  but  valuable  information  is  given 
about  the  influences  of  the  stars  on  terrestrial  events, 
about  Saturn,  "  who  is  cruel,  false  and  of  a  cold  nature  "  ; 
Jupiter,  on  the  contrary,  is  "  soft,  merciful  and  rich  in  all 
good "  ;  Mars,  "  hot,  warlike  and  of  evil  influence,  and 
therefore  was  called  of  old  the  god  of  battles."  The  sun 
is  a  "good  imperial  star"  ;  Venus,  a  "  beautiful  star,  soft 
and  full  of  good  airs,  full  of  goodness  "  ;  but  Mercury  is 
"  changeful,  according  to  the  good  or  evil  nature  of  the 
planet  in  whose  neighbourhood  he  chances  to  be."  Many 
true  but  inexact  observations  are  given  on  the  course  of 
the  planets,  for  in  the  Middle  Ages  peasants  generally 
knew  more  of  celestial  movements  than  cultured  people 
of  to-day. 

The  third  book  begins  with  geography;  it  is  treated 
rather  concisely  and  is  full  of  fables,  like  those  told  in  the 
tales  of  Sinbad  the  sailor  in  the  "Arabian  Nights,"  or  in  the 
tale  of  Duke  Ernest,  a  favourite  hero  of  mediaeval  story- 
books. We  hear  of  men  who  are  born  old,  of  men  who 
have  but  one  eye  in  their  forehead,  and  others  who  have 
no  head  at  all,  but  whose  eyes  are  fixed  in  the  shoulders ; 
of  the  one-legged  cyclopes  and  other  marvellous  tribes,  all 
dwelling  in  India. 

In  natural  history,  which  is  mostly  drawn  from  Pliny — 
the  whole  book  is  compiled  from  all  possible  earlier  com- 
pilations—the  first  part  treats  of  fishes,  and  tells  more  or 


MEDIEVAL    KNOWLEDGE  87 

less  fabulous  things  of  all  of  them.  Among  fishes  we  are 
surprised  to  find  the  crocodile,  which  weeps  as  often  as  it 
has  swallowed  a  man,  and  another  little  animal  called 
"  calcatine,"  which  eats  its  way  right  through  the  croco- 
dile and  in  this  way  kills  it.  In  the  chapter  on  the  whale 
the  episode  of  the  prophet  Jonah  is  told ;  two  other 
animals,  which  likewise  belong  to  the  fish  family,  are  the 
hippopotamus,  which  is  remarkable  for  bleeding  itself 
when  it  feels  ill,  and  the  sirens.  But  the  reality  of  the 
latter  seems  doubtful  even  to  Ser  Brunetto  Latini,  and  he 
admits  that  they  may  be  considered  as  mere  symbols. 

Very  interesting  details  are  given  about  the  snakes, 
which  take  out  their  poison  and  hide  it  under  a  stone 
whenever  they  go  to  drink ;  about  the  "  Aspis,"  which 
bears  a  sparkling  jewel  in  its  head,  and  which  to  evade 
the  snake-charmer  presses  one  ear  to  the  ground  and 
closes  the  other  with  its  tail.  A  snake  with  two  heads 
may  be  found  in  the  "  Empire  of  Women."  tl  The  basi- 
lisk is  a  kind  of  snake,  and  is  so  full  of  poison  "  that  it 
glistens  visibly  through  its  skin,  and  that  not  only  the 
poison  but  its  very  stench  poisons  everything  far  and 
near,  pollutes  the  air  and  makes  the  trees  wither;  its 
look  kills  the  birds  in  their  flight,  its  glance  has  a  numbing 
influence  on  man,  but  when  the  man  is  the  first  to  see  it 
"  it  is  said  it  loses  the  power  to  harm."  We  are  further 
informed  about  dragons  and  about  the  salamander  which 
lives  in  the  fire. 

Then  come  the  birds ;  and,  finally,  he  treats  of  mam- 
mals, to  which  class  belong  the  ant  and  the  chameleon. 
Even  here  there  is  no  lack  of  fables,  such  as  that  of  the 
wolf,  which,  when  howling,  holds  his  forepaws  to  its 
mouth  to  delude  people  into  the  belief  that  a  whole  pack 
js  present;  that  of  the  unicorn,  which  lies  down  and  falls 


88  DANTE   AND   HIS   TIME 

asleep  as  often  as  it  encounters  a  virgin,  and  of  many 
other  beasts  wholly  unknown  to  us. 

The  second  part  of  the  work  contains  moral  science  and 
a  fragment  of  political  science,  which  are  irrelevant  to  our 
present  object. 

Thus  we  are  soon  at  the  end  of  our  survey  of  mediaeval 
knowledge.  As  to  mathematics,  the  few  works  which 
remained  from  antiquity  were  known  to  few ;  in  philo- 
logy Dante  himself  perhaps  made  the  first  step. 

But,  childish  as  this  small  sum  of  corrupted  knowledge 
may  appear  to  us,  we  must  beware  of  underrating  the 
intellectual  power  of  the  period. 

In  the  first  place,  this  science  with  all  its  fables  had 
been  received  from  antiquity.  The  knowledge  of  the  great 
Greeks  was  no  greater ;  of  course,  what  in  antique  times 
had  been  first  essays  of  investigation,  essays  in  which 
errors  and  fables  were  inevitable,  were  accepted  in  the 
Middle  Ages  with  the  blindest  credulity;  it  was  and 
remained  a  dead  mass  of  traditions,  and  not  the  slightest 
attempt  was  made  to  carry  it  farther  or  even  to  test  it. 
But  then  mere  knowledge  has  very  little  to  do  with  mental 
ability. 

Intuition,  quick  insight,  broad  views,  the  power  to  use 
knowledge  are  the  signs  of  genius — and  knowledge  is  only 
the  material,  the  bricks  with  which  genius  must  construct 
buildings.  Every  schoolboy  of  to-day  knows  many  things 
which  Plato  and  Dante  never  knew ;  every  schoolboy  of 
the  next  century  will  know  facts  of  which  Goethe  would 
never  have  dreamt ;  but,  for  all  that,  he  will  be  far  from 
being  a  Plato  or  a  Goethe.  And  we  who  laugh  at  the 
meagre  knowledge  of  those  times  are  far  from  being  the 
superiors  of  Dante,  or  possibly  even  of  Ser  Brunetto 
Latini.     A  fool  will  be  a  fool  in  the  twenty-second  century, 


MEDIAEVAL   KNOWLEDGE  89 

and  a  genius  was  a  genius  in  the  Middle  Ages,  even  when 
he  believed  that  there  were  serpents  with  two  heads  and 
that  the  hippopotamus  was  a  fish. 

Thought  makes  the  thinker,  and  depth  and  breadth 
of  thought  make  the  great  thinker.  We  may  go  still 
farther  back,  into  still  more  ignorant  times,  times  in  which 
reading  and  the  alphabet  were  unknown,  times  from 
which  no  name  has  remained  to  us.  In  the  uncultured 
primeval  times  of  the  Germans,  of  the  Greeks,  of  the 
Jews,  when  not  the  slightest  vestige  of  science  could  be 
thought  of,  the  deepest  thoughts  of  men  were  clad  in  the 
form  of  religion  and  myth.  The  men  who  invented  the 
legend  of  the  fall  of  Adam  and  Eve,  the  myth  of  the  rape 
and  the  return  of  Proserpina  or  that  of  Prometheus,  the 
saga  of  Baldur's  death  and  Baldur's  lament,  the  saga  of  the 
Twilight  of  the  Gods — or  the  men  who  gave  to  those  myths 
the  deep  and  significant  forms  in  which  they  have  been 
delivered  to  us :  those  men,  though  we  do  not  know  their 
names,  nor  when  or  where  they  lived,  belong  to  the 
deepest  thinkers  and  poets  of  all  times,  and  the  thoughts 
expressed  in  these  myths  are  no  less  powerful  conceptions 
than  "  Faust "  or  "  Hamlet,"  the  Copernican  system,  or 
Darwinian  theory. 

For  all  these  contain  primary  thoughts,  intuitions  of 
eternal  laws  and  eternal  phenomena,  and  wherever  the 
human  mind  caught  and  expressed  them,  there  it  showed 
the  surest  signs  of  true  genius.  Nor  was  this  lacking  in 
the  Middle  Ages.  For  all  that,  I  am  far  from  denying 
that  ignorance  was  a  defect  which  had  often  the  most 
harmful  and  even  horrible  consequences  ;  and  it  certainly 
must  be  admitted  that  our  knowledge  is  a  progress. 

But  who  knows  how  much  of  which  we  feel  surest  will 
be  proved  to  be  false  by  coming  generations,  what  colossal 


9o  DANTE  AND   HIS  TIME 

errors  may  be  brought  about  by  those  modern  methods  of 
thought  of  which  we  are  so  proud,  how  people  will  laugh 
some  day  at  the  blindness  and  the  ridiculous  notions 
of  our  time  !  Every  generation  has  its  own  "  blinkers  " 
and  sees  but  the  defects  of  its  predecessors,  while  it 
applauds  itself  for  having  reached  such  a  high  plane. 

It  is  true  that  it  took  a  long  time  for  mediaeval  men  to 
find  intellectual  and  artistic  expression  for  their  own  life, 
but  that  life  itself  was  full  of  all  elements  of  poetry :  of 
powerful  passions,  an  imagination  which  was  but  too 
exuberant,  and  the  greatest  variety  of  forms.  With  a  deep 
intensity  of  feeling  it  combined  a  naive  impulse  to  express 
everything  in  a  way  which  impressed  the  senses,  not  the 
intellect,  as  with  us,  and,  more  than  all,  it  possessed  a 
pathetic  earnestness  in  life  and  expression  which  might 
move  us  to  envy,  and  which  produced  all  the  glory  of  late 
mediaeval  art. 

Science  and  knowledge  were  regarded  in  another  light 
than  they  are  to-day,  but  the  notion  they  had  of  them 
had  its  deep  foundation  in  ancient  ideas.  The  philosopher 
who  to  us  appears  more  essentially  Greek  than  any  other, 
who  in  our  eyes  is  the  representative  of  Greek  thought, 
Plato,  pointed  out  to  mediaeval  investigation  the  way  which 
it  involuntarily  followed,  for  it  was  he  who  opened  the 
way  to  the  most  subjective  idealism,  who  created  the 
boldest  ideologic  system  in  which  he  gave  an  arbitrary 
explanation  of  the  universe.  In  the  very  words  which 
Socrates  speaks  to  Theaetetus,  "  Come,  let  us  learn  what 
truth  is,  but  let  no  profane  person  approach ;  the  profane 
are  those  who  credit  nothing  but  what  they  can  touch 
with  their  hands  " — in  these  very  words  Plato  points  out 
to  the  student  a  direction  which  leads  him  away  from  all 
ways   and  aims  of  modern  investigation   and  into  the 


MEDIEVAL   KNOWLEDGE  91 

realm  of  bottomless  speculation.  This  turning  away  from 
the  dominion  of  the  senses,  which  he  continually  preached, 
the  doctrine  that  the  philosopher  is  not  to  occupy  himself 
with  that  "  which  is  only  born  to  die,"  but  has  to  explore 
the  realm  of  the  Infinite,  Primary  Being,  and  the  Essence  of 
Things,  this  doctrine  was  followed  in  the  Middle  Ages 
much  more  strictly  than  in  his  own  time.  Antiquity 
developed  all  tendencies  in  the  overflowing  abundance  of 
its  manifold  gifts,  and  together  with  the  purest  idealism 
we  owe  to  it  the  beginning  of  all  empiric  sciences.  But 
the  Middle  Ages  with  their  ruling  religious  idea,  "  My 
Kingdom  is  not  of  this  world,"  found  quite  after  their  own 
heart  this  flight  of  thought  from  all  that  belonged  to  the 
senses,  from  all  that  formed  part  of  nature,  to  abstract 
speculation  on  thought  itself  and  on  the  things  "  which 
we  cannot  know." 

And,  considering  the  deep  and  eternal  longing  of  man- 
kind for  the  solution  of  the  insoluble  questions  :  what  and 
wherefore  are  we  ?  what  is  true  ?  how  came  the  world 
into  existence  ?  is  this  life  of  ours  the  final  one  ? — who 
shall  say  that  the  struggle  of  human  thought  to  find  its 
way  through  this  labyrinth  was  a  "  false  "  one,  who  dare 
assert  that  we  to-day  have  really  found  the  true  path  ? 

They  explored  to  the  best  of  their  knowledge,  and  we 
do  the  same;  if  their  results  were  less  palpable  and 
visible  than  ours,  they  were  no  less  deep.  We  must 
beware  of  believing  that  true  progress  lies  only  in  scien- 
tific discoveries ;  in  innumerable,  impalpable,  untraceable 
influences  may  lie  the  immense  value  of  a  period  of  human 
activity  to  the  history  of  civilisation.  One  thing  at  least 
is  certain :  the  final  outcome  of  the  errors  of  scholasticism 
was  critical  science. 


CHAPTER  VIII 

SCHOLASTICISM 

From  the  seventh  to  the  eleventh  century  all  intellectual 
life  in  Europe  was  more  or  less  limited  to  the  Church. 
Not  only  did  religion  itself  occupy  men's  minds  to  a  much 
greater  extent  than  to-day,  but  whatever  intellectual  life 
there  was  independent  of  religious  thought  proceeded 
from  the  Church,  the  little  knowledge  that  existed  at  all 
was  to  be  found  among  the  clergy,  and  the  remnants  of 
ancient  science  in  MSS.  and  parchments  were  kept  in 
convents. 

;~*All  teachers*  of  schools  were  clerical  and  all  pupils  too — 
the  word  "  clerk  "  (scribe)  is  derived  from  clericus,  because 
in  the  Middle  Ages  a  man  who  could  write  and  a  clergy- 
man were  identical.  Clergymen,  therefore,  were  indis- 
pensable in  all  offices.  <$f  the  seven  high  offices  of  the 
empire  which  were  reserved  to  the  seven  electors,  four 
only,  that  of  Arch-butler  or  Arch-steward,  for  instance, 
would  be  filled  by  temporal  lords,  but  the  offices  of  the 
Arch-Chancellors  were  reserved  to  the  three  spiritual 
electors,  the  Archbishops  of  Mainz,  Trier,  and  Coin. 

*  The  few  exceptions  to  this  rule,  on  which  Ozanam  puts  such  stress, 
in  his  study  on  "  Schools  and  Instruction  in  the  Middle  Ages,"  seems 
to  have  been  found  in  Italy  only,  and  cannot  alter  the  fact  that  teaching 
as  well  as  learning  in  those  times  is  entirely  of  a  spiritual  character. 


SCHOLASTICISM  93 

The  painters,  too,  were  clergymen,  and  in  the  earliest 
times — at  least  in  the  newly  cultivated  countries — even 
handicraft  and  agriculture  had  been  taught  by  monks. 

Europe  owes  much  to  the  Roman  Church.  But  the 
science  of  the  Church  was  very  limited,  and  the  moment 
inevitably  came  when  the  lay  world  had  received  all 
that  the  Church  could  give  and  wanted  more.  Un- 
happily, the  Church  had  made  a  skeleton  system  of  her 
treasures ;  not  only  of  religious  dogmas,  but  of  all  her 
scientific  doctrines  as  well,  and  whosoever  dared  to  doubt 
or  criticise  it  was  a  sinner  and  a  heretic.  As  she  had 
decreed  that  the  sun  turned  round  the  earth,  even  so  the 
smallest  details  were  fixed  and  unchangeable.  Even  the 
painter  was  bound  to  paint  the  beard  or  the  robe  of  a 
saint  only  in  one  way.  A  synod  had  decreed^it  so.  As 
long  as  the  Church  was  in  a  position  to  give,  and  laymen 
to  receive  from  her,  all  was  well,  the  relations  between  them 
were  those  of  a  mother  to  her  child,  of  a  tutor  to  the  pupil. 
But  as  soon  as  a  sufficient  number  of  laymen  knew  quite 
as  much  as  the  clergy,  and  began  to  work  on  independently 
for  themselves,  the  Church  said  "  Stop."  In  that  moment 
the  great  historical  rupture  was  completed,  and  the  Church 
henceforth  was  the  retrograde  and  obstructive  power  in 
the  development  of  mankind.  She  has  been  to  the  human 
mind  like  a  mother,  who  brings  up  her  child  with  love  and 
care,  but  will  not  suffer  it  to  become  a  man  independent 
of  her  maternal  care  and  superintendence,  who  would 
rather  murder  it  than  suffer  it  to  become  so. 

But  independence  must  be  the  aim  and  scope  of  all 
education,  and  parents  who  will  not  suffer  their  children 
to  acquire  it  must  invariably  lose  them.  Therefore  the 
development  of  mankind  in  those  times  was  above  all  and 
on  every  field  an  emancipation  from  the  ruling  Church ; 


94  DANTE  AND   HIS  TIME 

even  with  those  who  never  thought  of  rising  against  her, 
Dante,  for  instance,  or  St.  Francis,  and  many  others. 

The  greatest  innovators  in  history  generally  tried  but 
to  restore  an  old  state.  Jesus  came  but  to  renew  the  Old 
Covenant ;  Caesar,  a  revolutionary  leader  of  the  people, 
founded  the  greatest  of  all  monarchies.  Very  often  the 
reactionist  is  unconsciously  working  for  progress,  the 
radical  for  reaction,  and  those  who  seemingly  are  the 
most  peaceful  of  all  are  preparing  revolutions.  There  is 
nothing  of  which  people  have  less  clear  notions  than  of 
the  real  tendency  of  their  own  work.  This  wTas  also  the 
case  with  mediaeval  philosophy. 

To  give  here  anything  but  a  very  superficial  survey  of 
it  would  be  impossible.  The  reader  who  wants  to  learn 
more  about  it  may  work  his  way  through  the  books  of 
Haureau  and  others.  The  writings  of  mediaeval  phi- 
losophers are  innumerable ;  a  whole  row  of  great  names 
adorns  their  history.  Men  of  immense  learning  and 
narrowest  judgment  were  among  them,  men  of  venomous 
orthodoxy,  some  who  rank  among  the  boldest  and  freest 
investigators ;  and  others,  again,  whose  conceptions  were 
grand  and  poetical.  As  the  knowledge  of  the  Middle 
Ages  was  borrowed  from  the  ancients,  so,  too,  their 
philosophy  is  based  on  the  poor  remnants  of  antique 
philosophy,  but  its  wings  were  clipped  and  the  great 
freedom  of  thought  was  wanting.  Those  remnants  which 
had  been  preserved  and  destined  to  become  the  basis  of 
new  speculation  were  the  fewest  imaginable :  a  little 
work  of  Plato,  the  "  Timaeus,"  perhaps  the  "  Phaedo  " 
too,  small  and  corrupt  fragments  from  Aristotle,  and  a 
few  works  of  commentators;  especially  the  so-called 
"  Isagoge  "  of  Porphyry  (an  introduction  to  the  "Organon" 
of  Aristotle),  and  works  of  Boethius. 


SCHOLASTICISM  95 

In  the  thirteenth  century  the  works  of  Aristotle  were 
introduced  by  the  Arabs,  who  had  known  and  studied 
them  already  for  three  hundred  years ;  and  though  they 
were  only  to  be  had  in  most  corrupt  translations,  they 
furnished  a  mighty  inspiration  to  European  philosophy.* 

But  a  few  sentences  are  sufficient  to  the  human  mind  : 
every  deep  word  is  the  key  to  a  door  leading  into  the 
universe ;  using  a  few  sentences  as  their  stepping-stones, 
the  philosophers  of  the  Middle  Ages  pierced  into  all  the 
depths  of  the  mind,  all  the  immensities  of  space.  There 
is  no  more  airy,  no  bolder  ladder  than  words,  every  step 
opens  a  new  prospect,  and,  like  sudden  wings,  the  thoughts 
which  every  new  word  calls  forth  will  carry  the  thinker 
into  the  infinite.  There  are  no  paths  of  early  or  of 
modern  philosophy  through  which  the  philosophers  of  the 
Middle  Ages  had  not  walked,  too,  in  their  own  ways. 
They  became  sceptics,  materialists,  pantheists,  very  often 
without  being  aware  of  it ;  the  boldest  and  deepest  thinker 
of  the  earlier  time,  Johannes  Scotus  Erigena,  anticipated 
the  grand  views  of  Spinoza. 

A  mere  chance,  if  one  is  allowed  to  say  so,  fixed  the 
path  of  mediaeval  philosophy;  a  mere  chance  made 
Aristotle  their  lord  and  master ;  by  mere  chance  were  he 
and  Plato  put  into  that  dominating  position  in  philosophy 
which  they  still  occupy  to-day,  and  in  which  they  have 
been  represented  in  Raphael's  "  School  of  Athens  "  in  the 
Vatican.     Had  the  works  of   Democritos,  for  instance, 

*  The  civilisation  of  the  Mussulmans  in  the  eleventh  and  twelfth 
centuries  was  such  higher  than  that  of  contemporary  Europe,  and  if 
in  their  chronicles  they  designated  the  Crusades  M  inroads  of  bar- 
barians," they  were  at  least  as  right  in  doing  so  as  European  writers 
were  in  disparaging  the  previous  Saracen  invasions  into  Europe,  which 
had  exactly  the  same  scope :  booty,  renown,  and  the  expansion  of  a 
faith. 


\ 


V 


96  DANTE  AND   HIS  TIME 

been  preserved,  the  whole  intellectual  history  of  mankind 
would  have  taken  another  way — to  the  same  ends. 

A  few  words  of  Porphyry  furnished  to  the  Middle  Ages 
their  formulas,  methods  and  problems.  He  turned  the 
attention  of  men  to  the  question  of  "  abstracts,"  particularly 
of  "  universals."  The  existence  of  the  individual  man  or 
beast  is  proved  by  the  senses ;  but  what  is  the  real  nature 
of  "man"  or  "beast"  in  general?  Does  "man"  in 
general  exist,  or  is  it  only  a  conception  of  our  brain,  a 
formula  necessary  for  thinking?  And  if  it  is  only j^y 
thought  or  notion,  is  it  a  necessary  and  true  oneT^  Does 
anything  corresponding  to  it,  perhaps  an  essential  idea, 
exist  in  a  Divine  Mind,  in  creation  or  beyond,  to  test  it  ? 
And  what  is  the  nature  of  abstract  notions  like  "  wisdom  " 
or  "  beauty,"  which  undoubtedly  seem  to  be  less  real  than 
a  wise  man  or  a  beautiful  thing  ?  And  what  is  the  nature 
of  farther  intellectual  beings  whose  existence  is  warranted 
by  religion — Angels,  Devils,  Divinity  itself? 

Do  universals  really  exist,  or  are  they  mere  words  ? 

And  if  they  exist,  is  their  existence  a  corporeal  one  or 
not  ?  And  if  they  really  exist,  do  they  only  exist  in  and 
with  individual  things  (as  wisdom  in  a  wise  man),  or  may 
a  separate  essential  existence,  as  "  wisdom,"  be  ascribed 
to  them  ? 

It  is  known  that  Plato  said  :  There  are  Ideas,  that  is, 
primary  conceptions  of  all  beings  and  things  in  the 
intellect  of  the  first  Creator,  God.  These  exist  "  ante  rem" 
(before  the  thing  exists)  and  they  are  essential.  In  the 
individual  things  only  the  images  of  those  primary  ideas 
are  expressed  "  in  re  "  (in  the  thing).  "  Post  rem  "  (after 
the  thing)  the  notions  of  it  exist  in  the  human  intellect  as 
necessary  reflected  images  of  the  primary  thoughts  oi 
God.      That  is  the  doctrine  of  the  boldest  Realism.     We 


SCHOLASTICISM  97 

to-day  would  call  it  "  Idealism,"  but  in  the  Middle  Ages 
it  was  called  "  Realism  "  because  it  attributed  reality  to 
what  was  ideal. 

Against  it  stood  the  opinion  of  severe  Nominalism, 
which  ran  thus :  The  abstracts  are  only  words  (nomina) 
they  exist  but  as  formulas  of  our  brain,  no  conclusion  from 
them  on  reality  is  permitted,  nor  is  it  possible  that  they 
should  in  any  way  influence  it. 

Many  variations  and  shades  were  possible  in  the  answer 
to  the  three  chief  questions  as  well  as  to  all  the  countless 
subordinate  questions  which  arose  in  consequence.  An 
intermediate  opinion  was  that  of  the  "  Conceptualists," 
who  said :  "  It  must  be  conceded  that  the  abstract  is  only 
a  thought,  but  then  it  certainly  exists  as  a  thought,  and 
has  besides  a  certain  objective  existence  in  and  with  the 
thing."  It  is  obvious  that  this  was  but  a  lame  and 
undecided  solution  which  was  very  near  pure  Nominalism. 
Even  within  the  limits  of  each  school  the  uncertain  and 
manifold  meaning  of  such  words  must  necessarily  lead  to 
very  different  conclusions.  Their  halls  resounded  with 
debates,  and  their  parchments  were  covered  with  medita- 
tions, acutest  wit  vying  with  senseless  and  sophisticated 
confusion,  strongest  thought  and  abstruse,  bottomless 
speculation  inextricably  mixed.  On  premises  which  had 
not  the  smallest  foundation  in  fact  artificial  worlds  were 
constructed,  like  brilliant  castles  on  swimming  and 
melting  icebergs.  Two  things  had  to  remain  uncontested 
in  the  whirl  of  dispute :  the  words  of  the  old  masters  and 
the  words  of  the  Church;  the  dogmas.  These  were 
sacred  and  unquestionably  true.  That  meant,  the  ice- 
bergs on  which  the  castles  were  built  were  declared 
unmeltable.  Considered  in  themselves  from  the  point  of 
view  of  exact  science,  the  works  of  scholasticism  are  an 

G 


98  DANTE  AND   HIS  TIME 

immense  Sisyphean  labour  of  six  hundred  years  on  "  that 
which  we  cannot  know." 

/The  first  great  name  in  scholastic  philosophy  is  that  of 
Johannes  Scotus  Erigena,  which  means  John  the  Scotch- 
man, born  in  Ireland,  head1  of  the  school  of  Paris  at  the 
time  of  Charles  the  Bald.  I  His  was  a  broad  and  bold 
mind.  He  despised  logic  and  dialectics  as  mere  words, 
ascribing  the  highest  authority  to  Reason  alone.  True 
philosophy  he  declared  identical  with  true  religion,  and 
yet  a  mystic  and  poetical  turn  of  his  mind  made  him  a 
realist.  In  brilliant  and  pathetic  style  he  announced  the 
doctrine  of  Spinoza,  that  Essence  is  but  one  and  the  same 
in  all,  and  all  the  rest  but  forms  of  Essence.  He  also 
conceded  that  this  highest  problem  of  all  was  in  reality 
incomprehensible  not  only  to  the  senses  of  man,  but  to 
his  intellect  as  well.  This  brilliant  and  modern  thinker, 
whose  appearance  in  the  Carolingian  time  will  ever  remain 
an  historical  enigma,  is  said  to  have  died  as  Abbot  of 
Malmesbury,  murdered  by  his  own  monks.  His  writings 
have  been  forgotten.  His  main  work,  "  De  Divisione 
Naturae,"  was  discovered  towards  the  end  of  the  twelfth 
century ;  a  short  time  afterwards  it  was  condemned  by 
the  Church,  and  again  fell  into  oblivion. 

Speculation  in  those  times  never  was  quite  without 
danger,  philosophy  and  its  problems  were  so  nearly  re- 
lated to  theology.  The  wonderful  problems  of  the  Trinity, 
of  the  Essence  of  Him  who  was  God  and  Man  in  one 
person,  the  nature  of  angels,  creation  out  of  nothing, 
were  themes  which  could  not  but  allure  minds  bent  on 
investigations  like  the  aforesaid,  and  which  it  was  as  im- 
possible to  avoid  as  dangerous  to  touch,  in  a  time  when 
theology  was  the  main  science,  when  every  philosopher 
was  a  jnember  of  the  clergy,  and  most  certainly  a  Doctor 


SCHOLASTICISM  99 

,yof  Divinity.  A  few  words  which  seemed  heretical  to  the 
majority  of  any  provincial  synod  could  bring  ruin  on  the 
man  who  had  uttered  them.  A  few  philosophic  remarks 
on  the  "intellectual  Presence  of  Christ  in  the  Lord's 
Supper  "  destroyed  Berengar  of  Tours. 

The  antagonism  of  the  two  main  schools  became 
evident  in  the  eleventh  century  by  the  contest  between 
Roscellinus  and  St.  Anselm  of  Canterbury.  The  opinion  of  \ 
the  Conceptualists,  which  already  in  the  ninth  century  had 
been  expounded  by  the  German  monk  Rabanus  Maurus, 
was  represented  by  one  of  the  boldest  and  most  interest- 
ing of  mediaeval  philosophers,  no  less  famous  as  a  lover 
than  as  a  scholar  and  orator,  around  whom  many  thou- 
sands of  disciples  thronged  from  all  parts  of  the  earth,  so 
that  the  halls  of  the  university  became  too  small  for  his 
audience,  and  he  had  to  teach  in  the  open  field :  this  was 
Peter  Abelard,  born  in  the  year  1079,  near  Nantes  in 
Brittany.  He,  too,  had  to  defend  himself  against  the 
repeated  and  dangerous  attacks  of  Churchmen.  Scep- 
ticism on  one  hand,  rigid  conservatism  on  the  other, 
were  the  results  of  the  first  period  of  scholastic  philo- 
sophy. 

In  the  thirteenth  century  the  works  of  Aristotle  *  were  . 
brought  from  the  Orient,  and  with  them  came  a  marked 
rise  in  philosophic  endeavour.  "  La  philosophic,"  says 
Haureau  with  some  exaggeration,  "fut  la  passion  du 
treizieme  siecle."  The  first  who  treated  the  Aristotelian 
philosophy  methodically  was  a  Dominican  friar,  Albertus 
Magnus.     He  was  originally  a  count  of  Bolstedt,  born  in 

*  The  Emperor  Frederick  II.  had  ordered  the  translation  and  pre- 
sented them  to  the  University  of  Bologna.  The  Church  repeatedly 
condemned  them,  but  in  vain.  They  became  the  basis  of  all  science. 
The  schoolmen  call  Aristotle  simply  the  "  philosopher." 


ioo  DANTE  AND  HIS  TIME 

the  year  1193,  in  the  little  town  of  Lauingen  in  Swabia, 
and  he  died  at  Cologne,  eighty-seven  years  of  age,  in  a 
cell  of  his  Order,  after  having  been  Archbishop  of  Ratisbon 
for  many  years.  He  was  called  "Doctor  Universalis." 
His  writings  fill  twenty-one  folio  volumes-  in  philosophy 
as  in  theology,  in  astronomy,  chemistry  and  mathematics, 
his  works  were  "  rien  moins  qu'une  veritable  revolution." 
Notwithstanding,  a  disciple  of  his,  St.  Thomas  of  Aquino, 
though  a  man  of  much  less  marked  originality  as  a  thinker, 
attained  a  much  higher  position  in  mediaeval  philosophy. 
Descended  from  the  Sicilian  counts  of  Aquino,  related  to 
the  race  of  the  old  Norman  kings  of  Sicily  through  his 
mother  Theodora,  a  broad-chested,  heavy  and  clumsy 
man,  he  was  called  by  his  fellow  students  "  The  great 
dumb  ox  from  Sicily."  u  His  bellow  will  one  day  be 
heard  through  all  the  world,"  his  teacher  Albert  had  said 
on  hearing  this  nickname.  The  writings  of  the  "  Doctor 
Angelicus,"  as  he  was  called,  have  occupied  a  ruling  and 
lasting  position  in  ecclesiastical  erudition.  He  more  than 
any  other  was  the  teacher  of  Dante,  though  the  latter  in 
the  main  questions  did  not  exactly  follow  his  doctrine, 
for  Dante  undoubtedly  was  a  realist.  Both  Albert  and 
Thomas  were  the  pride  of  the  Dominican  school.  Not 
without  opposition  and  jealousy  did  the  Order  of  St. 
Francis  wrestle  with  them  for  the  palm  of  scholarship. 
Many  and  different  opinions  were  represented  by  the 
brethren  of  this  Order ;  many  among  them  were  mystics  ; 
an  abstruse  and  subtle  realism  was  taught  by  the  "  pillar," 
the  "  sun,"  the  "  torch  "  of  the  school,  the  "  Doctor  sub- 
tilis "  Duns  Scotus.  But  two  men  of  the  Franciscan 
Order  attract  our  attention  more  than  the  rest,  for  they 
prepared  the  way  to  modern  science,  Roger  Bacon  and 
William  of  Ockham.     The  first,  born  in  Somerset  in  12 14, 


SCHOLASTICISM  101 

was  the  first  discoverer  of  the  power  of  steam,  and  in 
parts  of  his  books,  which  to  us  seem  almost  incredible,  he 
predicted  the  invention  of  the  railway,  the  great  oceanic 
steamers,  gunpowder,  and  the  use  of  electricity.  He 
wrote  in  a  broadband  free  style,  careless  of  scholastic 
methods  and  dialectics.  In  his  books  may  be  found 
sentences  like  the  following,  which  might  well  have  been 
written  by  Emerson:  "Always  let  us  reject  what  is  the 
opinion  of  the  majority,  and  every  habit  of  thought  let  us 
hold  in  suspicion."  He  was  made  to  feel  the  conse- 
quences of  uttering  such  revolutionary  ideas  in  the  thir- 
teenth century;  he  died  in  the  year  1293,  after  nine  years 
of  imprisonment.  Such  spirits  belonged  to  the  future, 
they  required  a  freer  air,  they  found  no  breathing  room  in 
the  Middle  Ages,  and  were  doomed  to  suffocation  from 
the  beginning.  Their  appearance,  however,  was  a  sign 
of  the  times,  it  announced  that  the  end  of  the  Age  was 
near.  The  other  great  Franciscan  monk,  and  he,  too, 
like  Roger  and  so  many  others,  an  Englishman,  was 
William  of  Ockham,  the  redoubtable  enemy  of  the  Pope, 
who,  condemned  to  life-long  imprisonment  by  the  Church, 
lived  free  and  pleasantly  in  Germany  under  imperial  pro- 
tection. He  said  to  the  Emperor  Lewis :  "  Do  but 
protect  me  with  thy  sword,  I  will  protect  thee  with  my 
pen."  By  the  victorious  and  final  enthronement  of  Nomi- 
nalism, by  a  number  of  clear  and  brilliant  sentences, 
destroying  the  inexact  methods  and  fanciful  results  of  his 
predecessors,  he  prepared  the  victory  of  critical  science. 

Entirely  dominated  by  theology,  from  which  it  was  but 
a  branch,  mediaeval  philosophy  had  no  other  scope,  and 
was  not  allowed  to  have  any  other,  but  to  establish  the 
harmony  between  the  dogmas  of  the  Church  and  human 
reason,  to  prove  that,  whatever  was  taught  by  the  Church, 


102  DANTE  AND    HIS  TIME 

was   the   natural   result    of   logical    reasoning   as   well. 
Dogma  stood  firm  and  rigid,  and  woe  to  Reason  if  Reason 
dared  to  swerve  one  smallest  step  from    its  prescribed 
path.     Even  in  the  works  of  St.  Thomas  of  Aquino  the 
Archbishop  of  Paris,  Tempier,  found  sentences  which  he 
proved  to  be  heretical.     Reason  was  in  the  position  of  a 
horseman  who  is  allowed  to  ride  "  freely  "  within  a  place 
surrounded  by  walls  ;  if  he  runs  against  them  he  is  the 
worse   for  it.     But   the  moment   must   inevitably   come 
when  the  writer  as  well  as  his  readers  would  say  :  "  If 
there  were  no  walls  the  rider  would  not  so  continually 
knock  against  them.     What's  the  use  of  talking  about 
freedom  as   long  as  the   walls  are   round    the   place  ? " 
And  thus  it  happened  that,   when  the  scholastic  philo- 
sopher had  fought  with  a  thousand  subtle  arguments  for 
the  truth  of  dogmatic   docrine,  and  had  announced   its 
infallibility  with  never  so  triumphant  a  flourish — the  acute 
reader  in  the  end  felt  strongly  that  the  result  was  far 
from  unexceptionable — and  without  anybody  desiring  it, 
the  authority  of  Reason  was  ever  more  clearly  demon- 
strated.    Thus  it  came  to  pass  that  scholasticism,  whose 
end  and  aim  had  been  to  prove  that  all  the  doctrines  of 
the  Church  were  fully  confirmed  by  logic,  had  just  the  con- 
trary effect,  for  it  served  but  to  reinforce  criticism  and  to 
discredit  the  dogmatic  "walls  "  ;  freedom  of  investigation 
took  root  on  its  very  basis,  and  the  authority  of  the  Church 
in  all  philosophic  matters  was  entirely  undermined. 

The  Church,  however,  had  terrible  weapons.  It  found 
a  sword  in  the  devout  minds  of  the  philosophers  them- 
selves. In  their  soul's  anguish  they  grasped  after 
desperate  means  of  rescue.  Many  of  them — Abdlard 
and  Roger  Bacon,  for  instance — in  the  first  half  of  their 
works  rejected  all  authority,  and  allowed  full  play  to  the 


SCHOLASTICISM  103 

exuberance  of  their  own  minds,  only  to  conclude  in  the 
second  half  by  re-establishing  the  authority  of  the  Church 
by  means  of  some  bold  sophism.  Others  had  the  happy 
idea  of  "  twofold  truth."  They  said,  "  This  sentence  is 
true  from  a  theologian's  point  of  view,  false  if  considered 
from  a  philosopher's  standpoint,"  or  the  reverse.  Under 
this   reservation  were   taught  the  Averroistic   doctrines 

'  that  the  world  and  matter  were  of  eternity  and  not  created 

1  out  of  nothing,  that  God  operated  but  in  the  first  and 
remotest  of  the  heavens  and  left  the  earth  to  the  laws 
of   nature,    that   Reason   and   the   Soul   were   but   one 

.in  all,  and  that  therefore  neither  individual  souls  nor 
immortality  of  the  individual  soul  was  possible.  They 
invariably  added  that  all  this  was  true  only  in  philosophy, 
that,  according  to  the  Catholic  faith,  the  creation  out  of 
nothing,  the  Lord's  personal  government  of  our  world, 
\the  immortality  of  the  soul  were  indubitably  true.  But 
the  Church  was  not  to  be  fooled.  This  method  was 
forbidden  and  declared  to  be  most  damnable  heresy,  and 
many  a  professor  rued  his  subtlety  at  the  stake. 

The  authorship  of  such  doctrines  was  attributed  to 
Averroes,  who  of  all  Arabic   philosophers  became   best 

\  known  and  most  famous  in  Europe.  He  did  not  enjoy 
an  equal  fame  among  his  countrymen,  for  he  was  but  the 
last  of  a  long  line  of  brilliant  Writers,  an  eclectic  on 
whose  head  the  glory  of  his  predecessors  was  shed, 
because  it  was  he  who  transmitted  their  works  to  the 
Occident. 

"  There  I  saw  him,  who  wrote  the  great  commentary ! " 
says  Dante,  who  meets  him  among  the  great  thinkers  and 
poets  in  the  Limbo.  His  true  name  and  title  were  : 
"  Kadi  Abul  Valid  Mohamed  Ibn  Achmed  Abu  Mohamed 
Ibn  Roschd";  Averroes  is  but  a  Latin  corruption  of  the  last 


io4  DANTE   AND  HIS  TIME 

two  words  of  his  name.  He  was  born  in  1 126  of  a  noble 
family  in  Cordova,  and  had  been  the  favourite  minister  of 
several  Khalifs,  yet  he  died  in  disgrace  in  the  year  1 190,  a 
victim  of  the  great  clerical  movement  in  the  Mohammedan 
world.  Many  of  his  writings  were  burnt  in  public  places. 
His  main  work  is  but  "  a  Latin  translation  of  a  Hebraic 
translation  of  a  commentary  on  an  Arabic  translation  of  a 
Syriac  translation  of  a  Greek  text  of  Aristotle  "  (Renan). 
"  Averroism  "  was  believed  to  be  one  of  the  worst  and 
most  damnable  heresies. 

But  riders  had  already  begun  to  take  the  walls.  In 
the  thirteenth  century  not  only  heresies  of  all  kinds  were 
widely  spread,  but  pure  scepticism  itself  was  no  rare 
phenomenon.  The  question  whether  Christ  was  an 
historical  person  or  not  was  discussed  with  amazing 
coolness.  Absolute  unbelievers  began  to  speak  openly 
their  opinions  about  the  "  impostor "  Jesus  and  his  dis- 
ciples. , 

In  the  years,  1270  and  1276  the  following  opinions 
among  others  were  condemned  at  the  University  of 
Paris  "  Nothing  is  known  because  of  theology,"  "  The 
Christian  religion  is  a  hindrance  to  teaching,"  "  Only 
philosophers  are  wise,"  "  The  sayings  of  theologians  are 
founded  on  fables." 

Thus  philosophy  was  in  opposition  to  the  Church,  and 
was  itself  divided  by  perpetual  discords.  It  brought 
no  solutions  to  the  eternal  questions  which  theology 
answered  so  promptly  and  decisively ;  to  this  day  it  stands 
as  helplessly  and  wistfully  before  the  same  clouded  door 
of  the  Unknown.  The  boldest  ideas  of  thinkers  are  but 
springboards  built  out  a  little  way  over  the  ocean — man 
proceeds  a  step  or  two  on  them,  looks  down  bewildered 
on  the  infinite  waste  of  waters  before  him ;  a  foreboding 


SCHOLASTICISM  105 

of  unknown  immensities  creeps  over  him,  but  at  the  next 
step  he  falls  and  arduously  swimming  regains  the  shore. 
The  very  words  which  he  tries  to  explain  and  define, 
"God,"    " Creator,"    "Fate,"    "First    Cause,"    "Soul," 
"  Immortality,"  and   a   thousand  others,  are  themselves 
unanswerable,    incomprehensible,    enigmatic    signs — re- 
sembling tickets  of  entrance  into  a  mystic  garden,  into 
which,  in  spite  of  them,  we  are  not  admitted.     Only  our 
presentiments  and  our  longings  lend  them   a   meaning. 
We  cannot  forbear  trying  ever  anew  to  investigate  those 
alluring  paths  and  longingly  press  our  faces  to  the  bars, 
but   in   vain,   the   door   remains   closed.     With   all   our 
philosophy  and  our  science  we  have  not  got   one  step 
nearer  to-day  than  we  were  before,  the  only  difference  is 
that  we  have  become  more  modest.    Faith,  which  professes 
to  be  so  modest  and  humble,  is  in  "reality  the  greatest  of 
all  presumptions,  the   pretension   of  knowing  what   we 
cannot  and  shall  not  know.     But  the  huge  certainty  of 
higher  conceptions,  which  dawns  upon  men  of  a  higher 
stamp,  has  been  left  to  us ;  a  knowledge  which  does  not 
need,  which  even  scorns  logic,  and  which  we  call  intuition 
or  primary  knowledge.     The  greatest  of  our  time,  like 
Goethe  or  Emerson,  are  true  believers,  and  smile  just  as 
Scotus  Erigena  smiled  at  logical  philosophy,  which  after 
so  terrible  struggles  has  attained  so  little.     One  might 
even   say  that   they   rather  share   the   mystic  views   of 
mediaeval  Realists   than   those   of  modern    Rationalism. 
They  will  concede  that  Nominalism  is  reasonable,  that  it 
was  most  necessary,  that  it  led  to  critical  science,  which 
within  the  limits  allowed  to  mankind  has  had  so  brilliant 
and  incontestable  results.    But  for  all  beyond  them  we  must 
needs  rely  on  intuition,  which  gives  no  certainty  beyond  an 
overpowering  consciousness  of  a  higher  intellect  surround- 


106  DANTE  AND   HIS  TIME 

ing,  all  and  about  which  we  must  cease  to  discuss.     Con- 
sciously or  not,  they  all  have  much  in  common  with  a 
mediaeval  school  which  in  those  times  already  turned  with 
loathing  from  the  debates  of  philosophy,  the  school  of  the 
mystics,  who  saw  the  only  source  of  all  knowledge  in 
pure  intuition,  in  the  loving  contemplation  of  God.     In 
ecstatic  trances,  in  perfect   self-forgetfulness,  in  a  bold 
imagery  of  allegoric  figures,  they  expressed  their  meaning 
as  poets  do.     There  were  Christian,  Jewish,  and  Moham- 
medan mystics  ;  some  even  who  kept  aloof  from  all  creeds 
alike,  some  who  chose  to  stick  to  certain  symbols,  and 
others  who  abandoned  themselves  to  the  free  flow  of  the 
poetical  current  in  their  minds.     Between  the  words  of 
the   "  Eagle    of  the    Synagogue,"    Moses    Maimonides, 
M  Intuition  means  so  high  a  degree  of  imagination,  that  a 
thing  will  appear  to  a  man  as  vividly  as  if  he  saw  it 
present  and  perceptible  to  his  senses  .  .  .  and  in  such 
men  we  say  dwells  the  spirit  of  the  most-high  God!" 
— or  the  words  of  Abul  Khain,  "  All  that  Ibn  Sina  knows 
I  see " ;  the  sentence  of  St.  Bernard,  "  Books  and  trees 
will  teach  thee  what  thou   canst   never  hear   from   the 
masters   of  the    school";   that  of    Vauvenargues,  "All 
logical  arguments  have  no  other  scope  but  to  make  the 
mind  understand  things  with  the  same  certainty  which  in 
the   heart  they  have  already " ;  the  words  of  Emerson, 
"  By  being  assimilated  to  the  original  soul  by  whom  and 
after  whom  all  things  subsist,  the  soul  of  man  does  then 
easily  flow  into  all  things,  and  all  things  flow  into  it : 
they  mix  ;  and  he  is  present  and  sympathetic  with  their 
structure  and   law.     This  path  is  difficult,   secret,   and 
beset  with  terror.      The  ancients  called  it  'ecstasy*  or 
absence  " — between  all  these  there  is  no  real  difference. 
To  this  order  Dante  also  belongs.     He  was  influenced 


SCHOLASTICISM  107 

in  a  high  degree  by  the  mystics  of  the  Middle  Ages,  like 
the  monks  Hugh  and  Richard  of  St.  Victor.  In  the 
Heaven  of  the  Sun,  where  the  lights  of  the  school  are 
united  in  eternal  bliss,  he  is  instructed  by  John  of  Fidanza 
— called  St.  Bonaventura — and  Thomas  of  Aquino.  But 
in  a  much  higher  place  still,  in  the  seventh  heaven,  are 
enthroned  the  purer  spirits,  who  in  life  had  already 
devoted  themselves  to  contemplation,  and  the  most  power- 
ful of  all,  St.  Bernard,  guides  him  upwards  before  the 
countenance  and  to  the  recognition  of  God.  Thus  Dante 
has  made  the  men  who,  by  their  writings  or  by  word  of 
mouth,  had  been  his  masters  on  earth,  his  guides  in  his 
transcendental  pilgrimage,  which,  if  we  get  a  deeper  in- 
sight into  it,  is  but  a  mystical  reflection  of  his  path 
through  real  life. 


CHAPTER  IX 

THE    UNIVERSITIES 

In  the  tenth  canto  of  Paradise,  Dante,  arriving  in  the 
fourth  heaven,  that  of  the  Sun,  is  welcomed  by  sparkling 
lights,  which,  "  rising  in  life  and  triumph  "  and  with  sweet 
melodies,  wheel  around  him  "  three  times  in  measure  due." 
These  are  the  blessed  spirits  of  the  great  "  Masters  of 
the  School,"  and  one  of  these,  Thomas  of  Aquino,  makes 
him  acquainted  with  the  name  of  each.  There  Dante  sees 
Gratian,  the  collector  of  the  M  Decretals  "  ("  papal  edicts"); 
Peter  Lombard,  the  author  of  the  "Sentences,"  which 
became  the  basis  of  all  theological  teaching  in  the  Middle 
Ages;  Isjdore,  Sfide,  Richajcd_^L_§L„. -Victor,  Albertus 
Magnus,  and  many  others ;  at  the  circle's  end  one  un- 
known flame  is  still  burning  high,  and  St.  Thomas  pro- 
ceeds : 

He  from  whom  now  to  me  turns  thy  regard 

Is  of  a  soul  the  light  so  gravely  wise, 
It  deemed  the  way  to  death  too  slow  and  hard, 

There  Sigier's  light  eternal  meets  thine  eyes, 
Who,  lecturing  in  the  street  that's  named  of  straw 

Unpalatable  truths  did  syllogise. 

From  the  fact  that  Dante  so  specially  mentions  the  Rue 

'  du    Fouarre  in  Paris,   where  Master  Sigier  of  Brabant 

used  to  lecture,  it  seems  to  follow  that  he  himself  had 


THE    UNIVERSITIES 


109 


heard  him  there.  Balzac  has  founded  his  novel,  "  Les 
Proscrits,"  on  these  verses.  Probably  in  his  exile,  as  a 
man  of  maturer  years,  Dante  visited  the  Universities  of 
Bologna  and  Paris,  perhaps  that  of  Padua  and  others  too, 
and  it  is  likely  that  in  some  of  them  he  was  not  only  a 
hearer  but  also  a  lecturer.  Many  of  the  great  scholastic 
writers  used  to  lecture  in  the  universities.  The  develop- 
ment of  these  high  schools  gave  a  new  stamp  to  the  era  ; 
these  institutions,  which  are  still  of  such  importance  in 
our  intellectual  life,  also  trace  their  origin  to  that  memor- 
able period. 

Until  the  eleventh  century  no  other  schools  had  existed 
but  those  of  convents  and  chapter-houses.  The  oldest 
university  of  all  was  that  of  Salerno,  which  at  first  had 
only  contained  a  school  of  medicine.  Soon  Bologna  and 
Paris  surpassed  it,  the  former  becoming  famous  for  its 
school  of  law,  the  latter  the  centre  of  scholastic  science. 
Theology  was  taught  above  all,  and  the  seven  liberal  arts, 
grammar,  dialectics,  rhetoric,  mathematics,  geometry, 
music,  and  astronomy.  The  essential  feature  of  the  new 
schools  was  not  only  the  combination  of  somany  different 
branches  of  learning  in  one  institute,  but  more  especially 
their  secular  character.  For  a  long  time  still  the  majority 
of  the  teachers  might  indeed  belong  to  the  clergy,  but  the 
university  itself  was  no  longer  a  purely  clerical  institu- 
tion. 

The  school  of  Salerno  had  received  the  "  privilegium 
approbandi,"  that  is,  of  conferring  degrees  on  the  students, 
from  King  Roger  of  Sicily ;  and  Frederick  II.  prescribed 
a  certain  scheme  of  study  for  physicians,  according  to 
which  they  had  to  study  philosophy  for  three  years  and 
then  medicine  for  five.  He  founded  the  University  of 
Naples,   which  was  the  first  to  which  professors   with 


no  DANTE   AND    HIS   TIME 

fixed  salaries  were  appointed.  But  in  general  a  school 
was  endowed  with  no  other  subventions  than  privi- 
leges. The  fees  which  the  professors  received  from 
their  hearers  were  so  considerable  that  those  in  Bologna 
were  in  a  position  to  purchase  palaces  and  large  estates. 
The  towns,  which  derived  great  profits  from  the  uni- 
versities— ten  thousand  hearers  annually  flocked  to 
Bologna — granted  all  kinds  of  privileges  to  them,  and 
favourite  professors  were  offered  high  salaries.  The 
students  or  iheir  "  proctors "  elected  the  rector,  they 
were  immune  from  the  ordinary  judges  of  the  town, 
justice  being  dealt  to  them  by  their  professors  or  by  the 
bishop  of  the  cathedral  ;  they  lived  separated  into 
"  nations,"  and  when  the  citizens  raised  the  rent  of  lodg- 
ings to  an  enormous  rate,  special  houses  were  founded 
for  them  to  live  in,  which  were  called  "  colleges."  Dissen- 
sions and  riots  among  them,  either  between  the  different 
nationalities  or  between  priests  and  laymen,  still  more 
often  between  students  and  citizens,  were  of  frequent 
occurrence.  In  Oxford  it  even  happened  in  the  year 
1347  that  the  students  on  one  side,  the  masters  with  the 
bedells  and  servants  on  the  other,  stood  in  arms  against 
one  another  and  fought  a  pitched  battle.  The  masters 
are  said  to  have  had  the  best  of  it. 

The  course  of  study  necessary  to  obtain  the  degree  of 
Doctor  was  generally  lengthy.  The  students  often  were 
obliged  to  hear  the  so-called  "  trivium "  (grammar, 
rhetorics,  and  philosophy)  for  eight  or  even  for  twelve 
years,  and  those  who,  after  having  gone  through  it,  began 
to  study  theology  might  already  lecture  on  philosophy. 
Besides  the  title  of  doctor,  minor  degrees,  like  that  of  a 
"  master  of  arts  "  or  u  bachelor  of  letters,"  were  also  con- 
ferred.    The  lectures  were  given  in  the  halls  of  convents 


OI 

T. 


THE   UNIVERSITIES  in 

or  in  private  houses,  in  the  absence  of  benches  the  pupils 
were  seated  on  bundles  of  straw.  These  lectures  were 
scarcely  ever  extempore  speeches,  but  always  kept  close 
to  some  well-known  author's  work,  on  which  the  lecturer 
commented,  sentence  for  sentence,  and  word  for  word, 
until  in  the  course  of  time  the  author  was  supplanted  by 
the  commentary,  and  the  lecture  became  the  commentary 
on  a  commentary,  and  so  forth — a  heap  of  casuistic  notes, 
added  to  the  notes  which  another  man  had  uttered  before, 
he  students  took  down  the  lectures  with  great  zeal,  for 
books  were  costly,  the  owner  of  twenty  volumes  was 
proud  of  his  library,  and  of  a  bookseller  we  are  told  that 
he  had  even  full  114  works  in  his  shop. 

In  every  regard  those  schools  and  studies,  though  a 
splendid  advance  upon  those  of  former  times,  were  kept 
down  and  restrained  by  all  the  limits  which  a  theological 
system  is  able  to  erect.  Not  life  and  nature  were  the 
basis  of  instruction  and  science,  but  books.  Not  the 
thing  was  the  object  of  inquiry  but  the  word ;  the  method 
never  consisted  in  experiments,  but  in  dialectics,  and  the 
result  was  not  established  by  any  real  proof  or  even  by 
arguments,  but  by  authority  ;  and,  finally,  authority  itself 
was  backed  only  by  the  master's  name,  not  by  his  know- 
ledge. Cases  occurred  in  which  newly  created  doctors 
were  made  to  swear  that  they  would  never  teach  anything 
new  but  would  deliver  everything  as  they  had  learned  it 
themselves ;  from  the  very  beginning  of  their  career  they 
had  to  renounce  all  intellectual  independence  and  to  re- 
main for  ever  slaves  to  their  master's  authority. 

The  difference  between  modern  and  mediaeval  science, 
their  study  and  methods,  is  nowhere  expressed  so  clearly 
as  in  the  dialogue  between  Mephistopheles  and  the  pupil 
in  Goethe's  "  Faust "  ;  the  verses, 


ii2  DANTE    AND    HIS    TIME 

Am  besten  ist's  wenn  Ihr  nur  einen  hort 
Und  auf  des  Meisters  Worte  schwort, 
Im  Ganzen :  haltet  Euch  an  Worte 
Dann  geht  Ihr  durch  die  sichre  Pforte 
Zum  Tempel  der  Gewissheit  ein, 

contain  the  whole  malady  of  mediaeval  thinking,  the  over- 
estimation  of  words.  That  words  are  after  all  but  con- 
ventional signs,  like  paper  money,  which  never  say  all 
and  very  often  say  too  much,  which  never  quite  answer  to 
the  thought  which  they  are  meant  to  express,  or  the  thing 
they  are  to  designate,  all  that  was  never  so  much  as 
thought  of  in  the  Middle  Ages.  People  even  fancied  an 
essential  connection  between  words  and  things,  not  only  a 
phonetic  and  psychological  connection  as  it  exists  in 
reality.  In  the  "  Vita  Nuova,"  Dante  says,  "  Love  indeed 
must  be  something  of  excellent  nature,  because  the  word 
'  love '  is  so  sweet  to  hear,  and  this  according  to  the  written 
sentence,  Nomina  sunt  consequentia  rerum  (Names  are 
consequents  of  things)."  Scholars  wishing  to  explore  the 
origin  of  crystal  found  that  the  word  KpvarTaXXog  in  Greek 
meant  ice.  Now  it  never  struck  them,  that  because  of 
its  resemblance  to  ice,  the  Greeks  had  called  the  crystal  by 
the  same  name,  but  quite  the  contrary  ;  from  the  resem- 
blance of  the  words,  people  concluded  that  the  nature  of 
the  things  must  needs  be  the  same,  and  the  explanation 
they  gave  was  sure  and  short :  "  Crystal  is  no  other  but 
ice  turned  into  stone,  for  it  is  designated  by  the  same 
word."  The  following  simile  may  serve  to  render  this 
general  mistake  of  mediaeval  science  and  thought  still 
clearer.  Imagine  that  all  things  in  the  world  were  put 
into  a  certain  order,  and  their  names  written  on  little 
scrolls,  which  were  stuck  into  the  things,  as  it  were,  on 
pins.     Now  mediaeval  men  firmly  believed  that  whenever 


THE  UNIVERSITIES  113 

they  had  changed  the  names,  that  is,  whenever  they  had 
put  the  scroll  on  which  the  word  was  written  into  another 
place,  the  thing  had  changed  its  place  too.  And  million- 
fold  Nature,  which  never  is  to  be  exhausted  by  words — 
all  our  speech  being  but  a  distant  allusion  to  it — was  thus 
forced  into  a  small  number  of  forms.  That  is  the  reason  why 
the  return  of  experimental  science  in  the  sixteenth  century, 
which  was  indeed  a  return  to  nature,  brought  with  it  such 
a  revolution  and  blew  all  the  philosophic  card-castles  of 
the  M^dle-AgesJuilaLpieces. 

TJesultory  as  this  survey  is,  we  may  picture  to  ourselves 
the  mediaeval  masters  and  their  hearers  dictating  and 
copying  for  long  years,  brooding  over  commentaries,  dis- 
solving a  minimum  of  scientific  facts  in  an  ocean  of  words, 
revelling  in  words,  and  on  sophisms  and  quotations 
arranging  glorious  debates.  And  yet  we  are  not  to  forget 
that,  under  mountains  of  babble  and  scholastic  jargon,  a 
few  grand  and  bold  currents  of  the  human  mind  streamed 
on  in  their  hidden  course. 


CHAPTER  X 

THE    PROVENCALS 

In  the  tenth  and  eleventh  centuries,  before  Italy  took  the 
lead,  France  gave  the  "tone"  in  Europe.  It  was  the 
birthplace  of  chivalry.*  Paris  was  the  centre  of  mediaeval 
philosophy ;  the  Romantic  style  in  architecture,  which  we 
call  "  Gothic,"  had  its  origin  there,  and  it  was  the  home  ot 
Romantic  poetry.  The  French  language  was  spread  far 
beyond  the  borders  of  France,  and  French  novels  of 
chivalry  were  read  and  imitated  all  over  Europe.  Brunetto 
Latini  wrote  his  "Tresor"  in  French  "porce  que  la  par- 
leure  est  plus  delitable  et  plus  comune  a  toutes  gentes." 
In  England  as  well  as  in  the  Western  parts  of  Germany, 
in  the  South  of  Italy,  and  at  the  Court  of  the  Latin  Empire 
in  Constantinople,  the  French  tongue — the  language  of 
"  oil " — was  read  and  spoken,  and  the  language  of  Southern 
France — that  of  "  oc  " — was  scarcely  less  diffused ;  for 
mediaeval  France  was  divided  into  two  separate  countries, 
of  marked  difference  in  language,  culture  and  distinct 
political  existence.  Only  the  North  formed  the  kingdom 
of  France,  the  South  Provencal  States  in  part  belonged 
to  the  empire,  as  Burgundy  and  Aries,  while  the  rest, 
Poitou,  Maine,    Aquitaine,  though   vassal  states  of  the 

*  The  expressions  of  chivalrous  life,  of  customs,  arms,  tournaments, 
&c. ,  were  almost  all  French^throughout  Europe. 


THE   PROVENCALS  115 

French  crown,  were  dominions  of  the  kings  of  England. 
Here,  in  Southern  France,  for  the  first  time  since  the  fall 
of  antiquity,  the  revival  of  civilisation  took  place.  Here, 
earlier  than  anywhere  else,  was  seen  a  country  happy  in 
peaceful  development ;  rich  towns  and  a  powerful  feudal 
nobility  for  a  short  time  flourished  side  by  side.  It  was 
there  that  chivalry  matured  its  finest  flower,  finding  its 
ideals  not  only  in  adventurous  brawls  and  wild  warfare, 
but  in  fine  manners  and  in  art.  Much  of  this  was  owing 
to  the  influence  of  the  civilised  Moorish  kings  of  Spain, 
with  which  the  Provencals  lived  in  peaceful  as  well  as  in 
warlike  intercourse.*  It  was  a  fruitful,  beautiful  land, 
with  wealthy  little  town-republics  situated  along  rivers 
winding  through  rich  cornfields  and  vineyards,  and  small 
states  of  feudal  princes,  the  lords  of  many  a  stately  castle, 
where  their  princely  courts  were  the  seats  of  gentle  hospi- 
tality, of  chivalrous  splendour,  of  poetry  and  joy.  It  was 
there  that  women,  who  had  been  abased  by  the  monkish 
views  of  life,  first  recovered  a  position  in  society,  and 
with  them  instantly  a  more  graceful  tone  began  to  reign  in 
social  intercourse,  in  the  pleasures  of  love  and  in  litera- 
ture. 

This  important  change,  which   soon   spread   all  over 
chivalrous  Europe,  and  led  to  that  cult  of  women  which  in 

*  It  cannot  be  said  often  enough  that  civilisation  in  the  Saracen     \. 
countries  was  a  much  higher  one  in  those  times ;  that  architecture, 
science,  chivalry  and  minstrelsy  had  reached  a  high  standard  in  those  jf 
countries,  when  in  Christian  Europe  they  were  still  rude  and  unde-  ' 
veloped.    If  the  state  of  to-day  has  become  the  reverse,  if  Mussulmans 
have  degenerated  and  Europeans  become  the  pioneers  of  progress  and 
culture,  the  reason  of  this  is  to  be  found  in  the  fact  that  in  the  interior 
of  both  mediaeval  worlds  the  same  struggle  was  fought,  but  with  a  very 
different  result.     In  the  Orientr  philosophy  and  scjenffi  Wft™  ***pr- 
minated  hy„the  Mohammedan  clergy,  in  Europe  revolutionary  criticism 
was  victorious  in  spite  of  all  the  resistance  of  the  Church. 


1  / 


u6  DANTE   AND   HIS   TIME 

the  end  became  a  characteristic  and  indispensable  feature 
of  all  chivalry,  soon  found  its  expression  in  the  costumes 
too.  Once  more  mankind  became  conscious  of  the  per- 
fections with  which  creation  has  endowed  it ;  once  more, 
since  the  fall  of  the  antique  ideal,  men  began  to  feel  pride 
and  joy  in  the  beauty  of  their  bodies  ;  their  costume,  which 
in  the  previous  centuries  had  resembled  sacks,  and  had 
but  served  to  hide  the  forms  of  the  human  body  as  much 
as  possible,  again  began  to  be  modelled  on  them  ;  women's 
robes  were  made  with  a  waist,  they  fell  in  beautiful  folds 
and  ended  in  long  trains.  The  hair  was  allowed  to  fall  in 
natural  curls,  its  favourite  ornament  being  a  wreath  of 
natural  or  artificial  flowers,  or  the  "  cappello,"  that  is,  a 
small  ribbon  of  gold  or  silk.     Great  ladies  wore  pearls. 

The  clergy,  of  course,  soon  turned  against  this  "  immoral 
dress,"  and  forbade  it  in  several  councils.  Brother  Salim- 
bene  writes :  "Cardinal  Latinus,  the  Pope's  legate  in  Tus- 
cany, put  all  women  into  a  state  of  great  distress  by- 
forbidding  them  to  wear  trains.  Otherwise  they  should 
have  no  absolution ;  and  a  woman  told  me  that  she  pre- 
ferred the  train  to  all  other  garments  she  wore  upon  her- 
self. Besides,  the  Cardinal  gave  order  that  all  women, 
maidens,  ladies,  married  women  as  well  as  widows  and 
matrons,  should  wear  veils  over  their  faces,  and  that  was 
horribly  distasteful  to  them.  But  against  that  plague  they 
found  means  which  they  in  no  wise  could  find  for  trains, 
for  they  wore  veils  of  silk  and  byssus,  interwoven  with 
golden  threads,  in  which  they  looked  ten  times  better,  and 
still  more  effectually  seduced  the  eyes  of  those  who  saw 
them."  Against  this  utterance  of  the  reactionary  monk 
we  may  well  quote  the  words  of  a  Provencal  knight, 
Guillem  de  Montagnagout,  who  said  :  "  If  a  woman  does 
nothing  worse,  nor  show  pride  or  insolence,  she  will  not 


THE   PROVENCALS  117 

violate  the  love  of  God  by  her  finery.  Nobody  who 
behaves  in  a  godly  way  will  sway  from  the  Lord's  path  by 
means  of  a  fair  dress,  just  as  nobody  will  ever  gain  His 
grace  by  a  black  robe  and  a  white  hood."  The  point  in 
the  last  sentence  is  not  to  be  misunderstood.  Indeed,  the 
hierarchy  in  Provence  had  lost  all  influence,  nowhere  did 
its  doctrines  encounter  so  much  scepticism  and  scorn. 
Two  tendencies  had  become  the  ruling  ones  in  the  country, 
one  leading  away  from  asceticism  to  epicurean  enjoyment 
and  gladsome  pleasure;  this  was  the  tendency  of  the 
cheerful,  of  the  bold,  and  of  the  frivolous ;  the  other,  that 
of  the  religious,  turned  with  loathing  from  the  corruption 
of  the  clergy,  and  aspired  to  a  much  severer  asceticism 
than  that  demanded  by  the  Catholic  Church,  to  an  asce- 
ticism which  required  perfect  purity  as  well  as  absolute 
poverty,  and  even  led  to  a  total  abnegation  of  life  and  to 
suicide  by  starvation — the  severe  doctrines  of  the  Albi- 
gensians  and  Waldensians.  Thus  the  clergy  had  lost  all 
importance ;  the  nation  had  thrown  off  all  respect  for 
FLome.  Priests  were  despised  and  hated  ;  the  songs  of  the 
troubadours  are  full  of  abuse  of  the  clergy.  "  I  had  rather 
be  a  Jew  than  a  clergyman,"  says  Guillem  de  Puy-Laurent ; 
and  "  viler  than  a  priest "  had  become  a  proverbial  expres- 
sion. It  came  to  pass  that  clergymen  were  obliged  to 
disguise  their  dress  and  hide  their  tonsure  to  avoid  being 
ill-treated. 

But  what  is  singularly  interesting  to  us  is  the  literature 
of  the  country.  The  Provencal  tongue  was  the  oldest  of 
all  Romance  tongues  and  its  poetry  the  "  oldest  romantic 
poetry "  (Diez).  It  was  the  first  poetry  of  a  civilised 
European  nation  since  the  fall  of  the  antique,  and  it  de- 
veloped unbiased  by  any  antique  influence;  the  themes 
which  the  poets  liked  to  treat,  their  forms  and  the  way 


n8  DANTE   AND    HIS   TIME 

in  which  they  looked  on  life,  were  quite  different  and  new. 
A  Their  homage  to  women,  their  notion  of  love,  the  chi- 

\  valrous  ideal  were  all  perfectly  new  features.     The  second 

\  civilisation  of  Europe  had  begun. 

)  In  the  early  Middle  Ages  the  only  representative  of 
^  poetry  had  been  the  jongleur  or  ballad-monger,  who  went 
strolling  through  the  villages,  and  often  combined  his  pro- 
fession with  that  of  a  rope-dancer,  who  passed  his  hat  to 
collect  small  coins  after  his  performance,  and  was  not 
essentially  different  from  his  brethren  of  to-day.  In  his 
place  now  appeared  the  troubadour,  the  cultured  poet,  con- 
scious of  his  position  and  proud  ot  nis  art.  There  were 
troubadours  of  every  class  and  origin — some  born  among 
the  lowest  orders,  who  attained  high  positions,  like  Bernart 
de  Ventadour  ;  troubadours  who  by  birth  were  citizens,  like 
Peire  of  Auvergne  and  Aimeric  of  Peguilhan  ;  others  who 
were  knights,  for  instance,  Bertrand  de  Born,  Rambaut  de 
Vaqueiras,  and  many  more ;  poets  of  princely  rank,  the 
Count  of  Orange,  Prince  Rudel  of  Blaya,  the  kings  Richard 
of  England  and  Alfonso  II.  of  Aragon.  They  all  were 
proud  of  belonging  to  one  class  of  poets ;  now  it  is  a  sign  of 
high  mental  development  if  talent  has  the  power  of  level- 
ling such  enormous  differences  of  rank  and  birth.  Those 
who  were  not  princes  themselves  generally  belonged  to  a 
prince's  suite.  It  was  often  their  official  duty  to  praise  the 
lady  of  their  lord  in  their  songs.  Often,  too,  they  tra- 
velled alone  and  independent  from  one  castle  to  another, 
welcomed  and  hospitably  received  everywhere,  at  the 
Courts  of  Auvergne,  Beziers,  Toulouse,  Orange,  Mont- 
ferrat,  and  all  the  other  little  capitals  of  princes  and  castles 
of  noblemen.  Some  of  them  kept  jongleurs  to  accompany 
them  on  their  way  and  recite  their  songs,  others  were  both 
poet  and  singer.    Feasts  and  tournaments  were  the  centres 


THE   PROVENCALS  119 

of  this  chivalrous  and  graceful  life.  We  may  read  of  a 
famous  feast  celebrated  in  Treviso  in  the  year  12 14,  when 
a  wooden  fortress,  covered  with  carpets,  was  defended  by 
two  hundred  ladies  against  the  attack  of  a  great  number 
of  knights,  fruits,  flowers,  sweets  and  bottles  of  perfume 
being  the  projectiles.* 

The  songs  of  the  troubadours  were  always  composed 
for  music ;  their  forms  were  complicated  and  various,  known 
as  the  "  canzon,"  the  "  tenzon,"  the  "  sirventes,"  and 
many  others  ;  the  versification  of  the  stanzas  had  to  be  as 
artful  as  possible,  and  the  poets  vied  in  what  were  called 
"  difficult  rhymes."  This  was  quite  suited  to  the  Provencal 
language,  and  indeed  a  consequence  of  there  being  more 
rhymes  possible  in  it  than  in  any  other.  On  the  whole, 
this  poetry  wearies  by  endless  repetitions  of  the  same 
thoughts,  images  and  sentiments ;  the  poetry  of  the 
German  Minnesingers  seems  very  much  superior  to  that 
of  the  Provencal  knights.  Every  song  of  Walther  von  der 
Vogelweide  contains  a  new  thought,  paints  a  new  situation 
and  expresses  new  shades  of  feeling.  And  everywhere 
in  his  songs  we  are  attracted  by  a  depth  of  feeling,  and  a 
most  personal  way  of  expressing  it,  which  is  wanting  in, 
the  works  of  most  of  the  Provencal  poets.  All  these  poets 
sang  of  love,  but  their  love  generally  was  a  formal  and 
official  homage  to  a  lady  whom  they  were  in  duty  bound 
to  praise,  and  their  poems  therefore  were  rather  cool  and 
conventional.  Of  course  there  were  men  of  living  blood 
and  real  passion  among  them,  and  love-affairs,  the  heroes 
of  which  were  very  much  in  earnest,  tragedies  of  separa- 
tion, jealousy  and  death  were  not  uncommon.  One  of  the 
most  ingenious  and  tender  was  Bernard  de  Ventadour, 

*  The  existence  of  the  famous  "courts  of  love"  has  never  been 
historically  proved. 


120  DANTE   AND    HIS    TIME 

who  was  born  in  the  second  half  of  the  twelfth  century, 
the  son  of  a  poor  serf,  in  the  castle  of  Eblis  II.,  Viscount 
of  Ventadour.  He  was  forced  to  leave  the  castle  in  con- 
sequence of  his  having  been  too  much  in  earnest  in 
praising  his  lord's  wife,  the  Lady  Agnes  de  Montlucon, 
and  thereby  having  won  her  love.  Later  on  he  stayed  at 
the  Court  of  the  Count  of  Toulouse,  and  at  last  died  a 
monk  in  the  convent  of  Dalon,  in  the  Limousin. 

Very  different  from  all  these  was  Bertrand  de  Born, 
the  most  fiery  singer  of  them  all,  whose  songs,  as  Diez 
said,  betray  the  half-savage,  warlike  and  bloodthirsty  baron 
of  the  twelfth  century. 

There  is  a  particular  charm  and  lustre  shed  on  the 
person  of  Bertrand  de  Born.  Queens  loved  him  and 
modern  poets  have  sung  his  praise.  A  wild  energy  per- 
vades all  his  poetry.  He  resembles  Lord  Byron  in  the  fact 
of  his  powerful  temper  being  the  source  of  his  originality. 

It  is  he  of  whom  Heine  sang,  that  "  he  could  conquer 
every  heart,  that  his  sweet  melodies  allured  the  lioness  of 
the  Plantagenets,  then  her  daughter,  then  her  sons,  and 
finally  King  Henry  himself,  whose  anger  melted  into  tears 
when  he  heard  the  lovely  accents  of  Bertrand  de  Born, 
the  troubadour ! " 

It  is  he  of  whom  Uhland  said : 

*■  For  his  love's  sake  royal  children 
Did  their  father's  anger  bear." 

Therefore  Dante  sees  him  in  the  pits  of  hell,  holding  his 
own  severed  head  like  a  lanthorn,  to  light  his  way  through 
the  dark  den.  In  his  book  "  Of  Eloquence  in  the  Ver- 
nacular Language  "  Dante  calls  him  the  singer  of  arms,  and 
praises  him  as  the  third  after  Guiraut  de  Borneil  and  Arnaut 
Daniel.  It  is  to  the  latter  that  he  attributes  the  highest  place 


V*        OF  THi 

UNIV 
THE  PRO\teia£AI*S^  121 

in  Provencal  poetry.  He  calls  him  the  man  who  left  none 
unconquered  in  love-song  and  romance,  and  those  who  do 
not  praise  him  he  calls  fools.  Here  we  may  once  more 
see  how  separated  from  critical  discernment  the  productive 
talent  may  be.  To  us  Arnaut  seems  to  be  a  most  insipid 
author,  whose  songs  are  purposely  obscure  and  compli- 
cated, and  as  full  of  artificiality  as  devoid  of  melody.  He 
is  deficient  in  all  in  which  Dante  himself  excels.  It 
has  been  alleged  that  he  wrote  a  romance,  "Lancelot," 
which  is  said  to  have  been  the  book  by  which  Paolo  and 
Francesca  were  seduced.  If  this  be  true,  it  might  explain 
the  great  honour  in  which  he  was  held  by  his  contem- 
poraries. Dante  in  his  book  calls  him  "  the  first  among 
the  singers  of  love,"  and  Petrarca  likewise  celebrates  him 
as  the  "  great  master  of  love." 

There  are  still  many  more  poets  deserving  to  be  quoted 
here ;  the  deepest  and  boldest  of  all  perhaps  was  Peire 
Cardinal,  who  addressed  a  powerful  "  poem  of  blame  "  to 
the  Creator  himself ;  then  the  gay  and  adventurous  Count 
of  Poitiers,  Richard  Lionheart,  whose  song  in  captivity  is 
well  known;  but  Dante  seems  to  have  been  influenced 
rather  by  the  average  Provencal  poetry  than  by  the  more 
original  and  striking  specimens.  There  are  places  in  his 
works  which  incline  one  to  believe  that  they  are  simply 
imitations  of  Provencal  verses.  He  probably  wrote 
Provencal  poems  himself;  some  Provencal  verses  of  his 
are  slill  extant.*  For  the  language  of  Oc  was  not  confined 
to  the  South  of  France,  but  spread  all  over  the  Courts  of 
Northern  Spain  and  Italy.  At  Montferrat,  Ferrara, 
Florence,  Malta  and  in  Sicily,  Provencal  poets  composed 
v* 

*  In  the  last  circle  of  Purgatory,  where  the  sin  of  carnal  lust  is 
repented,  Dante,  among  many  other  poets,  meets  Arnaut,  who  answers 
him  in  Provencal  verses. 


122  DANTE   AND    HIS   TIME 

their  lays,  and  many  troubadours  were  born  Italians,  who 
yet  sung  and  wrote  in  Provencal  only ;  Zorgi  of  Venice, 
the  Genoese  Bonifacio  Calvo,  Frederick  II.'s  son  Manfred, 
and,  above  all,  Sordello  of  Mantua,  on  whose  head  Dante's 
famous  verses  have  shed  a  lustre  which  has  remained  as 
brilliant  as  unexplained,  and  which  inspired  the  greatest 
of  modern  English  poets  in  the  most  mysterious  of  his 
works. 

Another  troubadour  who  lived  in  Italy  at  the  Court 
of  the  Marquis  Boniface  of  Montferrat  was  Rambaut  of 
Vacqueiras,  of  whom  some  very  characteristic  letters  have 
been  preserved.     One  of  them  runs  thus  : 

"  Glorious  Marquis,  I  will  not  relate  all  the  beautiful 
deeds  we  performed  together  from  the  very  begin- 
ning, for  I  fear  people  would  misrepresent  it.  The  first 
endeavour  of  a  youth  must  be  to  excel,  if  he  would  gain 
fame  and  honour,  as  you  have  done,  my  lord,  who 
excelled  from  the  very  beginning,  so  that  you  and  I  were 
praised,  you  as  a  lord  and  I  as  your  knight.  Now, 
oh  my  lord,  because  it  is  hard  to  lose  or  to  forget  a 
friend  whom  one  should  keep  in  honour,  I  will  refresh 
our  love  and  recall  to  your  mind  how  we  carried  off  the 
lady  Seldina  of  Mar  from  the  Marquis  of  Malaspina  out 
of  the  very  midst  of  his  entrenchments  and  how  you 
gave  her  to  Posson  of  Anguilar,  who  lay  dying  of-  love 
for  her. 

11  Remember,  my  lord,  how  at  Montalto  the  minstrel 
Aimonet  brought  news  to  you  of  Jacobina,  whom  they 
wanted  to  carry  to  Sardinia  by  force  to  marry  against  her 
will;  how  you  heard  that  with  sighing,  and  how  she 
kissed  you  in  parting  and  implored  you  so  pitifully  to 
protect  her  from  her  rapacious  uncle.  You  instantly 
ordered   five  of  your  best  knaves  to  mount,  and   after 


THE   PROVENCALS  123 

supper  at  the  fall  of  night  we  set  out  and  rode  away,  you, 
Guiet,  Hugonet  d'Alfar,  and  Bertaldon,  who  was  our 
guide,  and  I  myself,  for  I  will  not  pass  myself  in  silence. 
I  took  her  in  the  port  in  the  very  moment  they  tried  to 
embark  her;  a  great  clamour  arose  on  the  shore  and 
from  the  sea,  behind  us  they  rushed  afoot  and  on 
horseback,  we  rode  on  and  were  sure  of  escaping, 
when  suddenly  the  Pisans  fell  on  us.  On  seeing  so  many 
horsemen,  so  many  beautiful  harnesses,  so  many  glitter- 
ing helmets  and  floating  banners  barring  our  way,  there 
was  no  need,  to  ask  whether  we  were  afraid.  You  selected 
a  hiding-place  between  Bene  (Albenga)  and  Final.  We 
could  hear  the  bugles  and  clarions  sounding  from  many 
sides  and  the  cries  of  war.  Full  two  days  we  staid  with- 
out food  or  drink,  finally  on  the  third  we  went  on,  and  in 
the  pass  of  Belestar  were  met  by  twelve  robbers  going 
out  on  plunder.  Then  we  did  not  know  what  to  do,  for 
we  could  not  use  our  horses.  I,  however,  rushed  in 
among  them  on  foot.  It  is  true  I  was  wounded  by  a 
lance  piercing  my  collaret,  but  I  wounded  three  or  four 
of  them,  so  that  they  were  forced  to  retire.  Bertaldon 
and  Hugonet  seeing  that  I  was  wounded  came  to  my 
rescue,  and  when  we  were  three  of  us  we  swept  the  pass 
clear  of  robbers,  so  that  you  could  ride  through  it  in 
security.  What  a  gay  supper  we  had  after  this,  though 
we  had  but  a  loaf  of  bread,  and  could  not  drink,  not  even 
wash !  In  the  evening  we  arrived  at  Nice  in  Puiclair's 
castle ;  he  received  us  most  courteously,  oh,  he  would 
have  made  his  fair  daughter  your  bed-fellow  if  you  had 
accepted  it.  On  the  next  morning  you,  as  a  lord  and 
baron,  rewarded  your  host  in  a  regal  manner ;  you  gave 
Aigleta  to  Guido  of  Montelimar  and  had  Jacobina  wedded 
to  Anselmet,  she  had  the  county  of  Ventimiglia  restored 


124  DANTE    AND    HIS   TIME 

to  her,  which  by  her  brother's  death  was  hers  by  right  in 
spite  of  her  uncle's  claims. 

"  To  recall  all  the  glorious  deeds  I  saw  you  perform 
would  mean  to  tire  us  both,  myself  with  relating  and  you 
with  listening.  More  than  a  hundred  girls  I  saw  you 
marry  to  counts,  marquises,  and  powerful  barons,  and 
never  did  the  fire  of  youth  seduce  you  to  sin  with  one  of 
them,  though  they  were  quite  bereft  and  unprotected.  A 
hundred  knights  I  saw  equipped  by  you  and  a  hundred 
others  expelled  and  banished,  you  always  exalted  the 
good  and  humbled  the  bad,  no  flatterer  could  ever  make 
you  proud ;  I  saw  you  console  many  widows,  assist  so 
many  unhappy  persons,  that  you  certainly  must  have 
earned  the  glories  of  Paradise  if  it  is  to  be  won  by 
largess,  for  you  always  did  act  generously  and  never 
refused  any  one  who  was  worthy  of  your  generosity. 
Alexander  bequeathed  you  his  great  heart,  Roland  and 
the  twelve  Peers  their  bravery,  the  noble  Berart  his 
graceful  behaviour.  In  your  courts  everything  graceful 
is  to  be  found :  liberality  and  courtesy  to  women,  beau- 
tiful dresses  and  fine  armour,  trumpets,  games,  violins, 
and  songs  ;  you  kept  no  porters  when  you  sat  down  to  eat. 
1  too,  my  lord,  may  boast  of  having  lived  at  your  court, 
and  having  well  known  how  to  behave,  to  give  and  to 
suffer,  to  serve  and  to  be  silent ;  never  did  I  cause  dis- 
pleasure to  anybody.  Nobody  can  reproach  me  with  ever 
having  swerved  from  your  side  in  war  nor  fearing  death 
where  your  honour  was  at  stake,  nor  did  I  ever  hinder 
you  in  any  noble  deed.  To  me,  therefore,  who  know  so 
much  about  your  affairs,  you  should  be  doubly  kind  ; 
that  would  be  but  just,  for  in  me  you  find  a  witness,  a 
knight  and  a  court  poet,  my  most  glorious  marquis. " 

This  knightly  begging-letter  was  written  about  the  year 


THE  PROVENCALS  125 

1200 — two  generations  before  Dante  was  born.     It  was 
the  time  of  the  fourth  Crusade,  the  time  of  chivalrous 
adventures,  of  chivalrous  civilisation,  which  was  so  neatly 
defined  by  Lamprecht  in  the  words :  "  It  was  a  culture""^ 
not  founded  on  knowing  things,  but  on  the  art  of  doing    / 
things."     By  Dante's  time  all  this  had  passed  away.    The 
joyful  spirit  which  breathed  in  the  institution  of  chivalry,    I 
and  which   in  its  inmost  nature  made  it  hostile  to  the   / 
Church,  was  the  cause  of  its  ruin.     Europe  had  already 
threatened  to  emancipate  itself  from  the  ChurcH.    The 
human-  intellect  as  well"  as  the  spirit  of  life  everywhere 
had  risen   against  her  yoke.     But  still  her  power  was 
formidable.     Innocent  III.  preached  a  crusade  against  the    J 
Provencals,  and  the  incipient  fire  was  extinguished  with  / 
merciless  atrocity.     In  the  Albigensian  wars  the  civilisa- 
tion of  Provence  was  destroyed.     In  a  similar  though  ""J 
less  bloody  way  chivalry  in  Germany  succumbed  to  the  / 
monkish    movement.     With    it   fell  minstrelsy  and  its 
literature ;  though  for  a  long  time  Provencal  poems  con- 
tinued to  be  written  and  composed,  its  spirit  was  broken  ; 
German  "  Minnesang  "  decayed  to  the  bloodless  "  Meister- 
sang"  of  citizens.     Only  in  Italy  the  development  was 
difleEenk.    Here  the  civilisation  of^Utiet^iuuB  lo  a  still 
more   brilliant  height  than  chivalrous  culture  had  ever 
attained.^  Dante~himself  was  born  in  the  happy  moment 
of  the  change  :  the  knightly  nobility  had  become  a  knightly 
class  of  patrician  citizens,  its  castles  were  now  fortified 
and~Turreted  palaces  which  looked  over  the  streets  of 
cities  no  less  dark  and  threateningly  than  they  had  done 
from  the  rocks,  but  to  the  art  of  doing  had  been  added 
that  of  knowing,  to  graceful  deportment  and  minstrelsy 
an  intense  love  of  freedom  and  public  spirit. 


CHAPTER  XI 

ITALIAN    POETRY 

Italian  literature  was  later  than  any  other  in  developing^ 
In  Italy  the  Latin  language  had  been  the  common  ver- 
nacular tongue,  and  for  a  long  time  was  believed  to  be  the 
only  idiom  fit  for  the  use  of  cultured  people.  It  had  been 
long  dead  ere  men  became  aware  of  the  fact.  It  had  long 
been  corrupted  or  altered  by  daily  use  and  the  influence  of 
foreign  races ;  in  very  early  Latin  documents  we  encounter 
here  and  there  words,  probably  due  to  a  slip  of  the  clerk's 
pen,  that  bear  all  the  characteristic  signs  of  the  Romance 
languages,  the  wearing-down  of  terminations,  declension 
by  means  of  prepositions,  conjugation  by  means  of  aux- 
iliary verbs,  constructions  of  which  faint  traces  only  are 
found  in  Latin  ;  though  it  is  certain  that  -  long  before  the 
thirteenth  century,  to  which  the  oldest  specimens  of  Italian 
literature  may  be  assigned,  Italian  dialects  were  spoken  by 
the  people.  Dante,  therefore,  designates  the  Italian  lan- 
guage always  as  the  "vulgar"  or  vernacular  language,  that 
of  the  common  people ;  while  inflected  Latin  still  seemed 
to  him  the  real  mother-tongue  of  the  land,  the  far  more 
dignified  idiom  of  scholars  and  cultivated  persons. 

In  Italy,  too,  a  mediaeval  literature  in  Latin  had  not  been 
wanting ;  there  were  poetical  tales  and  songs,  countless 
works  of  a  moral  and  allegoric  character,  legends  and  mys- 


ITALIAN   POETRY  127 

teries,  and  a  great  number  of  chronicles  developing  from 
the  rudest  notes  in  the  ninth  century  to  the  naive  master- 
piece of  Brother  Salimbene  of  Parma.  Besides,  there 
I  was  a  rich  lyrical  poetry,  religious  hymns,  as  well  as  the 
merry  songs  of  the  V  Goliards,"  the  spirit  of  which  was 
iust  the  contrary,  and  hostile  to  the  Church.  Remnants  of 
both  still  exist  in  hymns  as  well  as  in  students'  and  drink- 
ing songs. 

When,  in  the  eleventh  and  twelfth  centuries,  the  desire    , 

Ifor  a  poetry  in  a  living  tongue  made  itself  felt  in  Italy, 
French  and  Provencal  were  the  languages  which  poets 
thought  fit  for  their  compositions,  and  it  took  a  long  time 
before  the  living  treasury  of  their  own  melodious  tongue 
was  discovered  by  the  M  cultivated  "  classes.  Its  earliest 
beginnings  are  rustic  poems  in  provincial  dialects,  the 
oldest  of  them  probably  much  older  than  any  which  have 
come  down  to  our  own  time. 

Then  poets  at  the  Court  of  Sicily  began  to  imitate  the 
chivalrous  poetry  of  the  Provencal  troubadours ;  the 
results  were  artificial  and  bloodless  love-songs,  which 
decayed  with  the  fall  of  the  Hohenstaufens  and  of  chivalry 
before  they  had  blossomed  into  any  living  flower.  Yet, 
arising  from  the  deep  poetic  impulse  of  the  people,  popular 
poems  were  composed  in  the  South  and  in  Central  Italy, 
utterances  of  real  life  which  were  not  inspired  by  foreign 
models. 

Chivalrous  poetry  continued  to  be  written  in  Central 
Italy  for  some  time  even  after  the  fall  of  the  Hohenstaufens. 
Then  the  stronger  life  of  the  people  and  of  the  citizens 
superseded  it  and  found  its  utterance  in  songs  of  peasant 
life,  rude,  sensual,  and  humorous,  by  unknown  authors, 
until  Cecco  Angiolieri  of  Siena  strikes  our  notice.  We 
know  but  little  about  him,  hardly  twenty  of  his  poems  are 


' 


i28  DANTE  AND   HIS  TIME 

extant,  but  his  profile  is  sharply  outlined  against  the  back- 
ground of  the  period.  He  was  as  dissipated  as  he  was 
gifted  and  original,  a  bitter  enemy  of  Dante,  against  whom 
he  wrote  a  number  of  insulting  poems.  Woman,  wine 
and  dice  were  his  themes,  and  he  composed  wilder  and 
truer  love-songs  on  his  sweetheart,  a  shoemaker's  daughter, 
than  any  of  the  Italian  knights  ever  could  have  written. 
Compare  verses  like  the  following : 

The  man  who  feels  not,  more  or  less,  somewhat 
Of  love  in  all  the  years  his  life  goes  round 
Should  be  denied  a  grave  in  holy  ground, 
Except  with  usurers  who  will  bate  no  groat* 

He  hated  his  parents,  and  composed  poems  of  exulta- 
tion on  his  father's  death.  A  most  remarkable  sonnet  is 
the  following  : 

If  I  were  fire,  I'd  burn  the  world  away; 
If  I  were  wind,  I'd  turn  my  storms  thereon ; 
If  I  were  water,  I'd  soon  let  it  drown  ; 
If  I  were  God,  I'd  sink  it  from  the  day ; 
If  I  were  Pope,  I'd  never  feel  quite  gay 
Until  there  was  no  peace  beneath  the  sun  ; 
If  I  were  Emperor,  what  would  I  have  done  ? 
I'd  lop  men's  heads  all  round  in  my  own  way. 
If  I  were  Death,  I'd  look  my  father  up  ; 
If  I  were  Life,  I'd  run  away  from  him, 
And  treat  my  mother  to  like  calls  and  runs. 
If  I  were  Cecco  (and  that's  all  my  hope), 
I'd  pick  the  nicest  girls  to  suit  my  whim, 
And  other  folks  should  get  the  ugly  ones.* 

A  certain  despair  of  a  dissolute  soul  betrays  itself  in 
the  songs.  He  most  certainly  carried  within  him  the  deep 
sorrow  which  has  made  so    many  humorists  the  truest 

*  Translated  by  Dante  Gabriel  Rossetti. 


ITALIAN   POETRY  129 

poets  of  pain.  Humour,  as  Heine  said,  "  has  a  laughing 
tear  in  its  coat  of  arms."  Who,  in  reading  the  sorrowful 
verses  of  that  grimly  gay  poet, 

My  heart  is  heavy  with  a  hundred  things 
That  I  would  die  a  hundred  times  a  day, 

is  not  vividly  reminded  of  the  famous  verses  of  Lord 
Byron  : 

And  if  I  laugh  at  any  mortal  thing, 
'Tis  that  I  may  not  weep  .  .  . 

Arrived  at  this  juncture  the  current  of  Italian  poetry 
divided,  and  while  one  branch  was  pursuing  its  rude  and 
popular  course,  the  other  strove  upwards  to  supernatural 
regions. 

Chivalrous  poetry  became  ever  less  sensual  and  more 
elevated ;  religious  and  philosophic  ideas  were  interwoven 
with   it,  and   even  scholasticism  did  not  remain  without 
influence  on  it.    But  the  essential  feature  was  the  position 
of  woman  and  the  new  conception  which  poets  had  of 
love.     To  the  ancient  world  love  had  meant  nothing  but 
the  physical  relations  between  the  two  sexes.     Woman 
was  simply   woman,   being  considered  neither  high  nor 
ethereal  nor  yet  distinctly  base.     Her  social  inferiority 
was  but  natural  in  times  where  physical    strength  and 
ability  for  self-defence  were  such  essential  conditions  of 
power.     With  the  beginning  of  the   Middle   Ages   two 
opinions,  at  war  with  each  other,  began  to  prevail.     In 
the  Germanic  mind  a  certain  reverential  regard  for  women 
was   deeply   rooted   which    had   been    quite    foreign   to 
antiquity.     The  social  position  of  women  often  was  far 
from  corresponding  to  this  reverence,  but  from  the  very 
oldest  specimens  of  Germanic  poetry  a  different  idea  of 

1 


130  DANTE  AND   HIS  TIME 

the  female  and  a  warmer  feeling  about  love  and  conjugal 
life  is  evident.  On  the  other  side,  the  Christian  doctrine 
of  the  early  Middle  Ages,  entirely  imbued  with  monkish 
ideas,  regarded  woman  as  something  bad  and  unclean, 
and  condemned  all  sensual  love  in  the  same  way.  At  the 
bottom  of  this  movement  a  deep  and  highly  interesting 
phenomenon  in  the  psychology  of  nations  might  be  traced, 
for  it  looks  as  if  the  unchecked  profligacy  of  the  oriental- 
ised ancient  world  had  led  to  surfeit  and  disgust,  and,  as 
ever,  man,  as  the  stronger  and  more  brutal  party,  made 
woman,  as  the  weaker  one,  suffer  under  the  abasement 
which  he  perhaps  felt  most  keenly.  All  this,  combined 
with  the  general  brutality  of  the  period,  explains  how,  in 
the  early  centuries  of  the  Middle  Ages,  a  love-poetry  which 
would  deserve  the  name  was  still  more  impossible  than 
in  ancient  times.  Moreover — and  this  is  a  further  proof 
of  the  rudeness  and  utter  want  of  civilisation  of  the 
period — we  are  unable  to  discover  the  existence  of  one 
noble  and  imposing  woman  in  its  history. 

All  this  was  changed  with  the  era  of  chivalry.  Then 
was  introduced  the  cult  of  women,  which,  however 
feigned  and  superficial  it  may  be,  has  become  a  leading 
feature  of  modern  civilisation.  Love  in  the  modern  sense, 
as  it  still  dominates  our  life  or  at  least  our  literature,  was 
discovered  or  invented.  To  this  day  " chivalrous"  is  the 
word  to  designate  a  perfect  behaviour  towards  women. 

In  Provencal,  German,  and  all  knightly  poetry  woman 
was  deified  and  raised  to  the  stars,  a  flattery  which  soon 
became  as  exaggerated  and  conventional  as  the  abuse  of 
the  monkish  times  had  been.  We  may  find  the  same 
worship  to  this  day  in  the  love-poems  of  all  nations,  the 
style  of  which  is  still  derived  from  and  indebted  to  the 
romantic  literature  of  the  Middle  Ages. 


ITALIAN   POETRY  131 

But  what  I  should  like  to  call  the  spiritual  school  of 
Italian  poetry  goes  much  farther.  Its  sentiment  as  well 
as  its  expression  was  tinted  with  a  mystic  and  religious 
colour.  The  beloved  woman  was  indeed  deified ;  she 
became  the  symbol  of  all  that  is  high  and  beautiful,  and 
the  poet  did  not  mean  that  as  a  mere  compliment,  as  did 
the  Provencal  knight.  His  ecstatic  mind  saw  her  really 
so.  The  love  which  he  felt  for  the  woman  appeared  to 
him  like  an  image  of  divine  love,  the  love  that  pervades 
the  universe ;  it  became  spiritualised  and  platonic  in  that 
high  sense  in  whicn  Plato  really  mpant  jg  This  poetry 
-T5~soit,  sweet  and  mystical,  full  of  enthusiasm  and  secrecy, 
as  remote  from  the  sensual  love-poetry  of  Ariosto  or 
Swinburne  as  from  the  sentimental  lays  of  the  Provencal, 
which,  were  they  expressions  of  genuine  feelings  or 
conventional,  did  but  exaggerate,  but  never  symbolise. 

The  "  dolce  stil  nuovo,"  the  "  sweet  new  style,"  as 
Dante  calls  this  poetry,  was  created  by  Guido  Guinicelli 
of  the  noble  family  of  the  Principi  in  Bologna,  but  it 
found  its  true  development  in  Tuscany.  Dante  himself 
calls  Guinicelli  "his  sweet  master."  He  repeatedly 
quotes  him  in  his  works,  and  some  of  Dante's  finest  verses 
are  imitations  of  Guido's'.  About  his  life  we  know  little 
more  than  that  he  was  banished  from  Bologna  in  the  year 
1274  and  died  in  1276. 

His  celebrated  canzone  on  the  origin  of  love — a  favourite 
subject  of  the  time — might  be  called  a  manifesto  of  the 
new  school : 

Within  the  gentle  heart  love  shelters  him 
As  birds  within  the  green  shade  of  a  grove  ; 

Before  the  gentle  heart,  in  nature's  scheme 
Love  was  not,  nor  the  gentle  heart,  ere  Love  .  .  . 

The  fire  of  Love  comes  to  the  gentle  heart 


132  DANTE   AND   HIS   TIME 

Like  as  its  virtue  to  a  precious  stone  .  .  . 
As  light  sprang  with  the  sun  immediately  .  .  . 

Thus  woman,  like  a  star,  enamoureth 
The  pure  and  gentle  heart. 

Even  as  the  spirit  of  God  is  poured  from  heaven  to 
move  us,  so  the  noble  face  of  a  woman  may  move  us. 

11  How  darest  thou,"  God  shall  ask  my  soul  when  it 
stands  before  His  iudgment-seat,  "  to  make  Me  of  vain 
love  similitude  ?  " 

Then  may  I  plead,  "  As  though  from  Thee  he  came, 

Love  wore  an  angel's  face  : 
Lord,  if  I  loved  her,  count  it  not  my  shame  !  "  * 

This  is  the  love  which  makes  the  man  who  feels  it 
virtuous  and  pure,  an  ecstatic  love,   from  the  source  of 

l  which  sprang  a  wonderful  poetry,  and  which  finally  loses 
itself  in  sensitive  morbidness. 

L-^-  To  the  Florentine  poets  of  this  new  school  belonged 
Lapo  Gianni  and  Dino  Frescobaldi,  the  melancholy  Gianni 
Alfani,  and  Guido  Orlandi.  But  the  greatest  of  them  are 
Guido  Cavalcanti,  Cino  de'  Sinibuldi  da  Pistoja,  and,  in 
his  youthful  poems,  Dante  himself.  They  were  all 
acquainted  and  exchanged  sonnets  with  one  another, 
many  of  which  are  still  extant.  These  sonnets,  which 
sometimes  run  on  a  philosophic  question,  and  again  on  a 
love  affair,  and  often  contain  controversies  now  of  a 
sportive  and  sometimes  of  a  very  embittered  character, 
throw  much  light  on  the  social  life  of  these  young  poets, 
who  emphatically  called  their  style  the  "  modern  "  style. 
Guido  Orlandi  in  particular,  who  was  the  least  gifted  of 
all,  often  sharply  rebuked  the  others  in  his  sonnets. 
Whether  Dante  ever  answered  him  we  know  not.     But 

*  Translated  by  D.  G.  Rossetti. 


ITALIAN   POETRY  133 

among  Guido  Cavalcanti's  sonnets  there  is  one  written 
against  him,  full  of  the  proud  contempt  which  that 
proudest  nobleman  of  Florence  knew  well  how  to  ex- 
press : 

Di  vil  matera  mi  conven  far  verso 
(On  a  vile  theme  I  needs  must  write  a  verse). 

Guido  Cavalcanti  is  the  only  one  whose  portrait  is 
somewhat  familiar  to  us.  All  the  rest  are  but  shadows. 
He  played  an  important  part  in  the  town's  history,  and 
novelists  and  historians  have  tried  to  paint  his  personality 
in  sharp  and  expressive  terms.  In  the  kind  and  loving 
words  which  Dante  devoted  to  this  dearest  friend  of  his 
youth,  and  in  his  own  poems,  his  character  appears  as 
through  a  mist.  Though  sometimes  spoiled  by  dry 
scholastic  subtleties,  of  which,  owing  to  a  contemporary 
freak  of  bad  taste,  even  Dante  was  not  quite  free,  his 
poems  contain  passionate  and  beautiful  passages,  which 
certainly  inspired  some  of  the  finest  verses  in  the  "  Vita 
Nuova '' : 

Who  is  she,  coming,  whom  all  gaze  upon, 
Who  makes  the  air  all  tremulous  with  light, 

And  at  whose  side  is  Love  himself,  that  none 
Dare  speak  but  each  man's  sighs  are  infinite  !  * 

He  was  a  politician  and  a  troubadour,  who  lived  and 
sang  his  love  affairs  in  Florence  and  Toulouse ;  a  proud 
and  gifted  man,  like  many  others.  Softer,  sweeter  and 
more  sensuous  are  the  sonnets  of  Cino  da  Pistoja,  who 
of  them  all  has  left  us  the  greatest  number  of  poems, 
almost  three  hundred : 

I  was  upon  the  high  and  blessed  mount, 

And  kissed,  long  worshipping,  the  stones  and  grass, 

*  Translated  by  D.  G.  Rossetti. 


«k 


134  DANTE   AND   HIS   TIME 

There  on  the  hard  stones  prostrate,  where,  alas  ! 

That  pure  one  laid  her  forehead  in  the  ground. 

Then  were  the  springs  of  gladness  sealed  and  bound, 

The  day  that  unto  Death's  most  bitter  pass 

My  sick  heart's  lady  turned  her  feet,  who  was 

Already  in  her  gracious  life  renown'd. 

So  in  the  place  I  spake  to  Love,  and  cried  : 

"  O  sweet  my  God,  I  am  one  whom  Death  may  claim 

Hence  to  be  his ;  for  lo !  my  heart  lies  here." 

Anon,  because  my  Master  lent  no  ear, 

Departing  still  I  called  Selvaggia's  name. 

So  with  my  moan  I  left  the  mountain-side.* 

y  That  the  pains  of  lost  or  unsuccessful  love  play  a  great 
/  part  in  the  poems  of  these  sensitive  bards  cannot  be  sur- 
^  -'Nprising.  They  often  call  themselves  the  visible  images  of 
death,  they  bewail  the  day  on  which  they  were  born,  and 
complain  that  the  world's  joys  are  not  for  them,  that  only 
sorrow  and  melancholy  fell  to  their  lot.  Longing  for 
death  is  the  motive  of  countless  of  these  poems,  yet  some- 
times all  this  wailing  changes  into  natural  anger  at  its 
natural  cause,  as  in  the  following  poem  of  Cino : 

My  curse  be  on  the  day  when  first  I  saw 
The  brightness  in  those  treacherous  eyes  of  thine, 

The  hour  when  from  my  heart  thou  cam'st  to  draw 
My  soul  away,  that  both  might  fail  and  pine : 
My  curse  be  on  the  skill  that  smooth'd  each  line 

Of  my  vain  songs, — the  music  and  just  law 
Of  art,  by  which  it  was  my  dear  design 

That  the  whole  world  should  yield  thee  love  and  awe, 

Yea,  let  me  curse  mine  own  obduracy, 

Which  firmly  holds  what  doth  itself  confound — 
To  wit,  thy  fair  perverted  face  of  scorn : 
For  whose  sake  Love  is  oftentimes  forsworn 

So  that  men  mock  at  him  ;  but  most  at  me 

Who  would  hold  Fortune's  wheel  and  turn  it  round.* 

*  Translated  by  D.  G,  Rossetti. 


ITALIAN  POETRY  135 

But  notes  of  such  unfeigned  and  natural  feeling  are 
rare.  The  ecstasy  of  love  is  the  characteristic  feature  of  s/ 
the  new  school  of  poetry.  The  form  of  the  beloved  one 
becomes  ever  more  mysterious,  she  is  an  angelic  creature 
which  has  just  descended  from  heaven.  She  astonishes  , 
all  the  world.  Love  herself  has  crowned  her  with  all  per- 
fections ;  whosoever  sees  her  becomes  humble,  to  whom- 
soever she  speaks  he  becomes  pure  of  sin.  This  poetry 
abounds  in  personifications  of  all  kinds  :  of  the  soul,  the 
heart,  of  sighs,  of  love.  A  thousand  little  spirits  appear 
in  the  poems.  A  spirit  of  love  flies  from  the  woman's 
lips,  the  spirit  of  the  sigh  rises  to  heaven,  the  spirits  of 
sight  are  expelled  from  their  place.  .  .  .  Carefully  ex- 
amined they  often  betray  a  sharp  observation  of  psychic 
phenomena  in  the  poet's  own  soul,  which  are  but  dis- 
guised by  these  truly  mediaeval  figures.  All  these  poems 
are  preludes  to  the  "  Vita  Nuova,"  and  help  to  explain  that 
wonderful  little  book,  in  which  all  the  aforesaid  elements 
reappear,  still  more  refined  and  irradiated  by  the  great  and 
ingenuous  soul  of  Alighieri  with  a  solemn  and  individual 
light. 

This  poetry  was  an  offspring  of  chivalrous  "  Minne- 
song,"  developed  by  the  influence  of  scholasticism  and  the 
religious  movement.  On  Dante  himself  these  two  ele- 
ments, the  science  of  the  time  and  its  religious  tendencies, 
had  such  a  powerful  influence  that  they  soon  led  him  out 
of  this  school  of  Florentine  poets  to  that  solitary  summit 
which  he  alone  reached,  and  to  the  work  in  which  flaming 
love,  the  supreme  religious  trance,  and  severest,  coldest 
philosophy  are  united  in  the  most  faultless  and  yet  most 
personal  work  of  art  which  has  ever  been  created  by 
man. 


CHAPTER  XII 

THE    FRANCISCANS 

In  a  time  when  religion  and  religious  feelings  occupied 
so  large  a  part  of  men's  lives  and  souls  they  could  not 
fail  to  find  expression  in  poetry.  Mention  has  been  made 
of  the  religious  poetry  in  Latin;  from  the  thirteenth 
century  religious  poetry  was  composed  in  the  vernacular 
tongue  also :  songs  of  praise,  ecclesiastical  stories,  moral 
plays  and  didactic  poems  and,  above  all,  descriptions  of 
Paradise  and  Hell — effectual  means  of  impressing  and 
fortifying  devout  minds. 

In  the  thirteenth  century,  the  time  of  revolution  and 
general  fermentation,  religious  life  also  underwent  a 
change.  Ever  since  the  degeneration  of  Christendom 
from  a  pure  message  of  love  to  a  theological  system, 
since  the  apostolate  had  frozen  to  an  hierarchy,  com- 
plaints about  the  worldliness  of  the  Church  and  demands 
for  reform  and  a  return  to  the  original  state  had  never 
ceased  among  the  people.  All  the  severe  monastic  orders, 
the  foundations  of  Cluny,  of  Citeaux,  of  the  Chartreuse, 
had  been  but  attempts  to  effect  this.  But  the  convents 
had  decayed  in  their  turn,  and  as  to  the  life  of  the  secular 
clergy,  Archbishop  Christian  of  Mainz  boasted  of  having 
broken  the  heads  of  thirty  men  in  one  battle  with  his 
mace.    Unceasing  complaints  were  heard  from  all  countries 


THE  FRANCISCANS  137 

against  the  greedy  covetousness  of  prelates,  in  the 
pamphlets  of  indignant  authors  as  well  as  in  the  assem- 
blies of  the  nobility  and  in  the  parliaments  of  the  people. 
In  the  year  1409  the  revenue  of  the  clergy  in  England 
was  twelve  times  greater  than  that  of  the  rest  of  the 
people;  half  of  the  land  was  property  of  the  Church, 
to  the  Church  were  paid  five  times  as  many  taxes  as  to 
the  king :  the  House  of  Commons  in  that  year  strongly 
advised  the  king  to  confiscate  all  clerical  possessions 
in  the  kingdom.  Among  other  things,  the  House  com- 
plained of  no  less  than  a  hundred  murderers  in  clerical 
orders  living  secure  and  free  from  fear  of  punishment  in 
the  asylum  of  the  Church. 

A  ferocious  satire  in  Latin  of  a  much  earlier  date,  the 
twelfth  century,  is  cited  by  Bartoli.  It  is  called  the 
M  Evangelium  secundum  Marcas  Argenti."  M  Here  be- 
ginneth  the  Gospel  according  to  the  Marks  of  Silver.  In 
those  days  spake  the  Lord  Pope  unto  the  Romans:  If 
the  Son  of  Man  come  to  the  throne  of  our  Majesty,  say 
ye  to  him  first :  Friend,  wherefore  art  thou  come  ?  But 
if  he  persist  in  knocking  at  the  door  and  give  you  nothing, 
then  hurl  him  into  utter  darkness  !  And  it  came  to  pass, 
that  a  poor  priest  approached  the  Court  of  the  Lord  Pope 
and  cried :  '  Have  ye  at  least  mercy  on  me,  ye  ushers 
of  the  Pope's  door,  for  the  hand  of  poverty  is  upon 
me !  I  am  poor  and  therefore  I  pray,  help  me  in  my 
misery!'  But  they,  when  they  heard  him,  were  very 
wroth  and  spake:  l  Friend,  thy  poverty  perish  with  thee. 
Get  thee  hence,  Satan,  because  thou  knowest  not  what 
wisdom  is  in  Numbers.  Verily,  verily,  I  say  unto  thee, 
Thou  shalt  not  enter  into  the  joy  of  thy  Lord  ere  thou 
hast  given  unto  him  thine  uttermost  farthing.'  The 
poor  man  went  away  and  sold  his  mantle  and  his  coat, 


138  DANTE   AND    HIS  TIME 

and  all  that  he  had,  and  gave  it  unto  the  cardinals  and 
the  chamberlains  and  the  ushers  of  the  door.  But  they 
said  :  '  What  is  that  among  so  many  ? '  and  cast  him 
out  of  the  palace  before  the  door ;  and  there  he  sat  and 
wept  bitterly  and  found  no  comfort.  But  soon  after  this 
there  came  to  the  Court  a  rich  clergyman,  thick,  fat,  and 
bloated,  who  had  killed  a  man  in  a  brawl.  And  he  gave 
first  unto  the  ushers  at  the  door,  and  thereafter  he  gave 
unto  the  chamberlains  and  thereafter  unto  the  cardinals. 
But  when  the  Lord  Pope  heard  that  the  cardinals  and  the 
servants  had  received  most,  he  was  sore  vexed  and  fell 
sick  and  was  near  death.  But  the  rich  man  sent  him  an 
electuary  made  of  gold  and  silver  and  he  was  healed  in 
the  self-same  hour.  And  the  Lord  Pope  summoned  the 
cardinals  and  the  servants  and  spake  unto  them  :  i  O  my 
brethren,  see  that  no  one  tempt  you  by  vain  words,  but 
do  ye  after  my  example,  so  that  as  I  take  ye  take  also.'  " 

In  the  third  part  of  the  eighth  circle  of  hell,  Dante,  in 
the  "  iron-hued  rocks,"  sees  countless  round  holes,  out  of 
the  mouth  of  which  burning  and  writhing  feet  appear. 
In  these  fiery  pits  stand,  with  heads  downward,  the 
souls  of  those  who  sold  spiritual  graces  and  dignities. 
Dante,  on  recognising  one  of  them,  Pope  Nicolas  III.  of 
the  House  of  Orsini,  by  a  question  of  the  latter,  breaks 
out  in  verses  of  bitter  indignation  : 

Tell  me,  I  pray  thee,  what  great  sum  to  bring 

Our  Lord  bade  Peter  ere  he  would  confide 

The  sacred  keys  into  his  custody. 
Truly  no  more  than  "  Follow  me,"  he  cried  .  .  . 

Therefore  stay  here ;  thou  righteously  art  pained ; 

And  keep  thou  well  thy  money  basely  earned, 
Which  thee  to  boldness  against  Charles  constrained. 


THE   FRANCISCANS  i39 

And  were  it  not  I  have  not  quite  unlearned 

My  awe  and  reverence  for  those  keys  supreme, 
Which  by  thy  hands  in  yon  glad  life  were  turned, 

I  would  use  words  that  harsher  far  would  seem, 
Because  your  avarice  fills  the  world  with  woe, 
Crushing  the  good  and  those  of  vile  esteem 

Upraising.    You  the  Evangelist  did  show 

Ye  shepherds,  when  the  harlot  he  displayed, 
Who,  by  the  streams,  doth  kings  as  lovers  know  .  .  . 

Silver  and  gold  are  now  made  gods  by  you, 

And  what  divides  you  from  the  Paynim  wild  ? 
Ye  worship  hundreds,  he  to  one  is  true  ! 

Ah  !  Constantine,  what  evil  came  as  child 

Not  of  thy  change  of  creed,  but  of  the  dower 
Of  which  the  first  rich  father  thee  beguiled  !  * 

In  all  countries  a  strong  movement  had  arisen  against 
the  clergy,  manifesting  itself  not  only  in  the  combat  of 
the  States  against  the  Church  and  in  the  foundation  of 
countless  heretical  sects,  but  above  all  in  the  intellectual 
life  of  the  people,  in  the  invective  songs  of  poets,  and  in 
the  increasing  number  of  freethinkers  and  absolute  un- 
believers. It  is,  however,  no  unusual  phenomenon  that 
two  combating  parties  are  moved  by  the  same  tendencies. 
Very  often  the  movement  even  transfers  itself  from  one 
party  to  the  opposite  one.  Thus,  for  instance,  reforma- 
tion and  counter-reformation,  Protestantism  and  Catholic 
reaction,  which  fought  so  bitter  a  struggle  against  one 
another,  were  but  phenomena  of  the  same  great  move- 
ment of  religious  reform  which  in  different  races  and 
countries  necessarily  led  to  different  results.     It  is  a  fact 

*  Translated  by  Dean  Plumptre. 


140  DANTE   AND    HIS   TIME 

which  never  will  be  understood  by  partisans,  but  it  is  true 
notwithstanding. 

Thus  the  reforming  movement  of  the  thirteenth  century 
too,  aspiring  to  a  thorough  purification  of  the  Church  and 
the  re-establishment  of  original  and  primitive  Christendom, 
had  taken  possession  of  the  minds  of  Churchmen,  who 
never  thought  of  breaking  her  hierarchic  rules,  as  well  as 
of  heretics,  who  did  not  hesitate  to  make  themselves 
independent  of  her.  Those  who  differed  but  in  the  choice 
of  their  paths,  not  of  their  aim,  were  most  bitterly 
opposed  to  one  another,  and  carried  the  religious  fight  to 
extermination. 

Dante,  in  the  12th  canto  of  Paradise,  is  told  : 

The  host  of  Christ  so  dearly  resupplied 

With  armour,  in  the  rear  of  its  high  sign 
Was  following,  few  and  slow,  by  doubt  sore  tried. 

When  the  great  emperor  of  the  realm  divine 

Was  moved  for  that  imperilled  band  to  care 
Not  for  its  merits,  but  through  grace  benign ; 

And  help,  as  I  have  said,  to  his  spouse  bare 
By  those  two  champions,  through  whose  words  and 
deeds 
The  scattered  people  homeward  'gan  repair. 

The  soul  of  one  with  love  seraphic  glowed  ; 

The  other  by  his  wisdom  on  our  earth 
A  splendour  of  cherubic  glory  showed 

Of  one  I'll  speak  ;  for,  if  we  tell  the  worth 

Of  one,  'tis  true  of  both,  whiche'er  we  take, 
For  to  one  end  each  laboured  from  his  birth. 

We  shall  not  follow  Dante  in  considering  these  two 
men   equal.      One    is    St,    Dominic    Gusman,  born   at 


THE  FRANCISCANS  i4I 

Calaroga,  in  Spain,  in  the  year  1170,  the  founder  of  the 
Order  of  the  Preaching  Monks  for  the  Conversion  of 
Heretics. 

Where  Calaroga  stands,  the  fortunate, 

Beneath  the  shelter  of  the  mighty  shield 
Where  lions  subject  are  and  subjugate, 
Therein  the  zealous  lover  was  revealed 

Of  Christ's  true  faith  the  athlete  consecrate, 

Kind  to  her  friends,  to  those  who  hate  her  steeled. 


With  will  and  doctrine  then  himself  he  threw 

In  apostolic  office  to  proceed, 
Like  torrent,  which  its  streams  from  high  source  drew ; 

And  so  upon  the  heretics'  false  breed 

He  fiercely  swept,  most  vehemently  there, 
Where  rebel  will  did  most  his  course  impede. 

In  the  chapel  of  the  Spanish  monks  in  Florence  is  a 
fresco  by  Simone  Martini,  representing  the  Church  mili- 
tant and  triumphant ;  there  we  see  at  the  feet  of  spiritual 
lords  and  saints  the  "  dogs  of  the  Lord  " — "  Domini  canes  " 
— attacking  and  tearing  the  wolves  of  heresy.  Two  great 
fundamental  modes  of  regarding  the  world  clash  here : 
whosoever  believes  that  all  progress  begins  in  heresy, 
and  that  almost  all  heresy  is  progress,  that  independence 
of  opinion  and  thought  is  to  be  encouraged  to  the  utmost, 
and  that  all  orthodoxy  is  to  be  condemned  as  soon  as  it 
pretends  to  be  the  only  right  path,  and  condemns  all 
others,  will  not  join  in  praising  the  founder  of  the  Order 
from  which  sprang  the  Inquisition. 

Far  different  from  him,  a  most  lovable,  humane  and 
gracious  personality,  is  the  founder,  the  unwilling  founder, 


142  DANTE   AND   HIS   TIME 

as  one  may   say,   of  the  other   Order,   St.    Francis   of 
Assisi. 

He  was  born  at  Assisi  in  the  year  IT 82,  the  son  of 
Pietro  Bernardone,  a  cloth  merchant,  who  gave  him  a 
chivalrous  education  after  the  French  fashion.  He  took 
part  in  several  warlike  expeditions,  and  was  made 
prisoner  in  a  battle  against  the  citizens  of  Perugia,  where 
he  remained  a  full  year,  even  in  captivity  proving  himself 
the  merriest  of  young  knights.  On  his  release,  in  the 
midst  of  gay  festivities,  he  suddenly  was  struck  by  a 
severe  illness.  Then,  in  the  face  of  death,  certain  thoughts 
came  into  his  mind  which  never  loosed  their  hold  on  it. 
Half  cured,  a  convalescent,  he  went  out  into  the  glory  of 
the  young  spring,  but  there  again  he  felt  only  the  torment 
of  his  unsatisfied  soul.  He  resolved  to  take  part  in  an 
expedition  to  Apulia,  to  which  the  city  of  Assisi  sent  a 
contingent ;  he  rode  out  with  his  comrades  clad  in  brilliant 
armour,  but  a  few  days  later  left  the  army  and  strolled 
pensive  and  restless  through  the  mountains.  For  a  long 
time  he  could  not  decide  on  his  course,  and  sometimes 
returned  to  his  former  life.  One  night,  at  a  banquet 
which  he  had  given  to  his  friends,  he  was  elected  "  king  of 
fools,"  and  the  whole  party,  after  the  banquet  was  over, 
swarmed,  merrily  singing  and  shouting,  through  the 
streets.  Suddenly  the  others  remarked  that  their  king 
had  remained  behind.  They  found  him,  after  a  long 
search,  standing  lost  in  deep  meditation.  One  of  them 
said  :  "  Don't  you  see  that  he  thinks  of  taking  a  wife  !  " 
Upon  that  he  answered  as  one  waking  up  from  sleep: 
M  Yes,  I  think  to  take  a  wife,  fairer,  richer  and  purer  than 
you  can  imagine."  One  day  he  met  a  leper;  first  he 
turned  from  him  with  loathing,  but  then,  forced  by  an 
inner  voice,  he  dismounted  from  his  horse,  gave  him  all 


Alinari  photo. 


DANTE 

FROM  A  FRESCO    BY  ANDREA  DEL   CASTAGNO 


THE   FRANCISCANS  143 

the  money  he  had  with  him,  and  humbly  kissed  the  hand 
of  the  stricken  man.     Henceforth  he  went  about  begging 
and  nursing  the  sick,  and  by  doing  so  soon  came  in  con- 
flict with  his  father,  who  angrily  saw  the  son,  whom  he 
had  trained  to  be  a  knight,  becoming  a  public  fool.     On 
the  market-place  of  Assisi,  before  all  the  .people,  Francis 
put  down  money,  clothes  and  whatever  he  owned  of  his 
father's  goods,  keeping  but  the  shirt  on  his  body,  and, 
laying  the  bundle  at  his  father's  feet,  said :  "  Until  now  I 
had  deemed  Pietro  Bernardone  my  father ;  henceforth  I 
will  but  say :  Our  Father  who  art  in  Heaven ! "     On  that 
the  bishop  covered  him  with  his  own  robe  and  declared 
him  under  his  protection.     The  people,  who  until  then 
had  derided  him,  now  acclaimed  him.     Peasants  assisted 
him  in  constructing  a  hut ;  gradually  a  small  community 
of  brethren  assembled  around  him,  who  likewise  desired 
to  live  in  cheerful  humility.     But  though  his  renunciation 
was   cheerful  and   free  from  gloom   and  terror,   it  was 
accompanied   by  fearful   ascetic   exercises :  he  scourged 
himself  with  chains,  threw  himself  naked  in  the  snow, 
fasts  of  incredible  duration  made   him  see  visions,  the 
stigmata  of  Christ's  wounds  appeared  on  his  body.     He 
was  of  a  loving  and   ecstatic   nature,  and  a  true  poet. 
Most  remarkable  and  characteristic  as  a  psychic  pheno- 
menon seems  his  love  of  St.  Clara,  who,  inflamed  by  his 
sermons,  with  his  aid  eloped  from  her  parent's  house  to 
become  a  nun — a  love  "unsensualised,"  the  genuine  fruit 
of  Christianity  and  the  spirit  of  the  time.     Infinite  were 
his  humility,  his   sweet   temper  and  kindness  of  heart. 
How  often  did  he  make  peace  between  Guelfs  and  Ghibel- 
lines !     Love,  not  for  men  only,  but  for  all  nature,  was 
burning   in   his   soul.     He   could  not  bear   to   see   any 
creature  suffering.     "  If  I  could  but  be  presented  to  the 


i44  DANTE  AND   HIS   TIME 

Emperor,"  he  once  said,  "  I  should  beg  him  that,  for  the 
love  of  me,  he  might  issue  a  law  forbidding  anybody  to 
capture  or  encage  my  sisters  the  larks,  and  which  would 
prescribe  that  whosoever  kept  oxen  or  asses  should  be 
obliged  to  feed  them  particularly  well  at  Christmas  time." 
To  swallows,  disturbing  his  sermon  by  their  chirp,  he 
said  :  "  My  little  sisters,  you  swallows,  it  is  time  for  me  to 
speak  also ;  now  listen  to  the  word  of  the  Lord  and  be 
quiet  until  I  have  done." 

At  the  "  Diet  of  Birds  "  at  Bevagna  he  spoke  to  them : 
"You  birds,  my  sisters,  you  must  needs  praise  your 
creator  and  love  him  much,  for  he  has  given  you  down 
feathers  to  dress  and  pinions  to  fly  with  and  whatever 
else  you  may  have  need  of.  He  has  made  you  noble 
among  his  creatures,  and  has  appointed  the  pure  air  to  be 
your  dwelling-place.  You  need  not  sow,  nor  reap,  and 
yet  without  any  toil  He  sustains  and  feeds  you."  Of  his 
poems  only  the  "Hymn  to  the  Sun"  has  been  preserved; 
it  is  among  the  oldest  documents  of  Italian  poetry  : 

Highest,  almighty,  bounteous  Lord, 

Thine  is  praise  and  honour  and  glory, 

And  every  blessing ! 

Thine  alone  are  they, 

And  no  one  is  worthy  to  speak  Thy  name. 

Praised  be  Thou,  O  Lord,  with  all  Thy  creatures. 

Especially  our  master,  brother  Sun, 

Who  bringeth  the  day  and  the  light  unto  us, 

And  is  fair  and  radiant  with  great  lustre, 

Of  Thee,  O  Highest,  he  is  the  image  ! 

Praised  be  Thou,  O  Lord,  by  our  sister  Moon  and  every 

star, 
Whom  Thou  createst  in  heaven  so  pure  and  costly  and 

fair ! 
Praised  be  Thou,  O  Lord,  by  our  brother  Wind, 
By  air  and  cloud  and  the  sky  and.  every  weather, 


THE   FRANCISCANS  145 

By  them  Thou  feedest  us,  every  one,  Thy  children  ! 

Praised  be  Thou,  O  Lord,  by  our  sister  the  Water, 

Which  is  humble  and  useful,  and  chaste  and  limpid. 

Praised  be  Thou  by  brother  Fire, 

Through  whom  Thou  dost  illuminate  the  night, 

And  he  is  fair  and  joyous  and  of  immense  strength  ! 

Praised  be  Thou  by  our  sister,  mother  Earth, 

Who  sustaineth  and  ordereth  us, 

And  bringeth  forth  fruit  and  many- coloured  flowers  and 

herbs ! 
Praised  be  Thou,  O  Lord,  by  those  who  pardon  for  the 

sake  of  Thy  love, 
Who  endure  infirmity  and  tribulation. 
Blessed  be  those  who  bear  it  peacefully, 
For  by  Thee,  O  Most  High,  they  shall  be  crowned ! 
Praised  be  Thou,  O  Lord,  by  our  sister,  the  Death  of 

the  body, 
"Whom  no  living  creature  may  avoid. 
Woe  to  those  who  in  deadly  sins  shall  die, 
Blessed  those  who  on  Thy  holy  Will  do  rely ! 
For  they  will  not  feel  the  pains  of  the  second  death 
O  praise  and  bless  the  Lord  with  a  grateful  mind, 
And  with  great  humility  serve  Him. 

This  wonderful  man,  whose  life  Giotto  has  represented 
so  simply  and  so  appealingly  in  his  frescoes,  on  whose 
tomb,  as  the  legend  relates,  all  the  swallows  and  the 
doves  of  the  neighbourhood  fluttered  together,  never 
intended  to  found  an  Order,  but  only  a  community  of 
brethren.  Of  course  he  desired  to  propagate  his  doctrine 
and  belief.  Clad  in  brown  frocks,  bound  with  cords,  the 
brethren  were  to  live  in  cheerful  renunciation  of  all 
worldly  pleasure.  They  occupied  themselves  with  all 
kinds  of  work  and  handicrafts,  swept  the  houses,  or  went 
around  selling  fresh  water,  assisted  the  peasants  at  the 
harvest;  begging  was  allowed  to  them  only  in  case  of 
necessity,    and    never    for    money.     They   went    about 

K 


i46  DANTE  AND   HIS  TIME 

preaching  and  singing ;  the  "  minstrels  of  the  dear  Lord," 
as  Francis  had  called  his  community.  He  himself  preached 
everywhere,  through  the  whole  of  Europe  and  through  the 
Holy  Land,  and  his  disciples  did  the  same.  The  secular 
clergy  saw  the  growing  influence  of  the  new  sect  with 
jealousy  and  found  its  expansion  not  devoid  of  danger. 
Several  bishops  forbade  them  to  preach,  and  the  brethren 
.Appealed  to  the  Pope.  The  absolute  prohibition  of  all 
^1  possessions  on  earth  seemed  objectionable  and  dangerous 
to  the  Pope.  "  Regally,"  as  Dante  says,  Francis,  who 
was  humility  itself,  answered  by  quoting  the  passage  from 
the  gospel  of  St.  Matthew,  "As  ye  go,  preach,  saying, 
The  kingdom  of  heaven  is  at  hand.  Heal  the  sick,  cleanse 
the  lepers,  raise  the  dead,  cast  out  devils ;  freely  ye  have 
received,  freely  give.  Provide  neither  gold,  nor  silver, 
nor  brass  in  your  purses,  nor  scrip  for  your  journey, 
neither  two  coats,  neither  shoes,  nor  yet  staves ;  for  the 
workman  is  worthy  of  his  meat."  That  is  the  doctrine  of 
evangelic  poverty.  The  question  whether  Christ  ever  had 
a  coat  of  his  own,  and  whether  therefore  priests  were 
allowed  to  have  possessions  of  their  own,  was  a  question 
which  shook  the  foundations  of  the  Church  for  centuries, 
and  was  answered  in  the  negative  as  well  by  the  Walden- 
sians,  who  severed  themselves  from  her,  as  by  the 
Franciscans,  who  wanted  to  remain  within  her  realm ;  but 
it  was  almost  a  mere  chance  that  the  latter,  who  were  at 
bottom  a  thoroughly  revolutionary  sect,  ever  adapted 
themselves  to  the  hierarchic  system  and  remained  within 
>^it.  Very  soon — under  the  reign  of  Boniface  VIII.  and 
/  still  more  strongly  in  the  period  of  Avignon — they  stood 
for  the  Emperor's  side  against  the  Pope,  and  a  definite 
<C^  rupture  between  them  and  the  Church  was  by  no  means 
improbable.     But    so  clear-sighted  a  politician   as  was 


THE   FRANCISCANS  i47 

Innocent  III.  soon  recognised  what  an  instrument  the  new 
community  could  become  in  the  hands  of  the  Church,  and 
he  confirmed  its  rule.  Thus  Francis  met  the  fate  which 
falls  to  the  lot  of  all  founders;  his  doctrine  became  a 
system.  The  spirit  of  love  and  poverty,  which  should 
have  ruled  the  souls  of  the  brethren,  found  outward  signs, 
and  the  signs  soon  becoming  the  essential  part  of  the 
institution,  what  had  been  a  community  by  free  choice 
was  changed  into  one  of  the  severest  Orders.  Its  foun- 
dation was  an  historic  event  of  immeasurable  importance. 
It  carried  a  democratic  tendency  into  the  Catholic  religion,, 
and  to  a  certain  extent  even  into  the  hierarchy ;  by  the 
institution  of  the  tertiaries  or  lay-brethren  it  spread  a 
religious  organisation  all  over  the  world.  By  this  they 
prepared  and  carried  on  the  clerical  reaction  which 
followed  on  the  first  outbreak  of  a  free  spirit  in  Europe 
and  in  this  sense  caused  immense  damage,  for  they  cer- 
tainly considerably  retarded  the  development  of  intellectual 
freedom.  It  was  this  Order  which,  more  than  any  other 
factor,  discredited  and  destroyed  the  chivalrous  civilisation 
in  Germany.  On  the  other  hand,  it  must  be  conceded 
that  they  did  much  towards  giving  a  deeper  tone  to  the 
religious  life  of  the  period,  which  had  become  rather 
superficial,  and  indeed  to  all  intellectual  life.  The  influ- 
ence the  brethren  exercised  in  that  time  is  incalculable. 
It  will  be  remembered  that  in  many  tales  of  the  time,  even 
in  one  or  two  of  Shakespeare's  plays,  the  Franciscan  friar 
is  a  prominent  figure. 

The  Order  soon  divided  itself  into  "  Conventuals  "  and 
into  the  brethren  of  severer  observance,  who  were  called 
"Spirituals."  The  latter  held  to  the  teaching  of  Abbot 
Joachim  of  Flora,  whose  mystic  prophecies  of  the  approach- 
ing Third  Kingdom  were  much  quoted  in  those  troubled 


148  DANTE   AND   HIS  TIME 

times.  Another  was  Fra  Jacopone  da  Todi,  who  originally 
had  been  a  lawyer,  and  a  man  of  a  particularly  cheerful 
disposition,  until  in  the  year  1268  his  young  wife,  whom 
he  loved  dearly,  was  killed  sitting  at  his  side  at  a  wedding 
banquet  by  the  falling-in  of  the  ceiling.  From  that  time 
he  was  quite  changed.  He  went  about  in  a  hairy  penance- 
shirt  and  abased  himself  in  whatever  way  he  could.  Once 
he  appeared  at  a  feast  naked,  crawling  and  bridled  like  a 
horse,  another  time  he  tarred  himself,  then  rolled  in 
feathers,  and  in  this  state  walked  along  the  streets.  Not 
until  he  had  done  penance  for  ten  years  did  he  think  him- 
self worthy  to  enter  the  Order.  In  the  troubled  reign  of 
Pope  Boniface  he  was  one  of  his  bitterest  opponents. 
As  his  religious  ecstasy  in  life  stood  on  the  verge  of  mad- 
ness, so  was  his  poetry.  Among  splendid  and  powerful 
passages  we  find  verses  like  the  following : 

O  Lord,  O  give  me  by  Thy  grace 
Whatever's  hurtful  to  man's  face, 
Pray  Thee,  send  intermitting  fever, 
That  every  third  day  makes  me  shiver, 
Or  send  it  rather  every  d\ay ; 
Whatever's  healthy  take  away ! 
Let  hydropsy  my  belly  bloat 
And  painful  soreness  quell  my  throat. 
To  head  and  teeth  send  woe  and  pain, 
Nor  may  the  stomach  less  complain. 

And  the  man  who  wrote  such  tasteless  things  probably 
was  the  author  of  the  most  beautiful  of  all  Church  songs, 
the  "  Stabat  mater  Dolorosa." 

Another  Franciscan,  Thomas  of  Celano,  was  the  poet 
who  composed  the  grand  hymn  "  Dies  Irae." 

From  the  narrative  of  Brother  Salimbene  of  Parma  we 
may  gather  to  what  degree  the  institution  of  the  Order 


THE  FRANCISCANS  149 

affected  and  influenced  the  life  of  men,  and  how  it  over- 
whelmed their  hearts.  He  was  born  in  the  year  1221, 
and  when  seventeen  years  old  entered  the  Order  of  St. 
Francis,  as  his  brother  had  done  before  him.  His  father, 
Guido  degli  Adami,  a  Parmese  knight,  in  despair  at  the 
loss  of  both  his  sons,  indignantly  recalled  him.  Salim- 
bene  himself  says  that  "  Brother  Elias  had  written  that,  if 
it  were  my  own  wish,  they  should  instantly  send  me  back 
to  my  father.  If  I  should  not  desire  to  go  with  my  father, 
they  should  hold  me  dearer  than  their  eyeballs.  And 
several  knights  came  with  my  father  to  the  brethren's 
home  in  the  town  of  Fano  to  see  the  outcome  of  the  affair. 
For  them  I  was  a  spectacle,  for  myself  the  source  of 
salvation.  When  the  spiritual  and  secular  brethren  had 
assembled  in  the  chapter-hall,  and  many  words  had  been 
spoken  from  both  sides,  my  father  took  out  the  General's 
letter  and  showed  it  to  the  brethren.  After  it  had  been 
read,  Brother  Jeremiah,  the  guardian,  answered  my  father, 
and  all  heard  him,  saying:  '  My  Lord  Guido,  we  are 
moved  by  your  pain  and  we  are  ready  to  obey  the  letter 
of  our  father.  But  here  is  your  son.  He  is  old  enough, 
let  him  speak  for  himself.  Ask  him  !  If  he  wants  to  go 
with  you,  let  him  go  in  God's  name,  but  if  he  does  not — 
we  cannot  do  him  violence,  to  make  him  go  with  you.' 
Thereupon  my  father  asked  me  whether  I  wanted  to  go 
with  him  or  not,  and  I  said  to  him  :  '  No,  for  the  Lord 
says  in  the  Gospel  of  St.  Luke  ix.  "  No  man,  having  put 
his  hand  to  the  plough,  and  looking  back,  is  fit  for  the 
kingdom  of  God."  '  And  my  father  said  to  me  :  '  Thou 
dost  not  care  for  thy  father  nor  for  thy  mother,  who  is 
much  grieved  for  thy  sake.'  And  I  answered  to  him  : 
'It  is  true,  I  do  not  care,  for  the  Lord  says  in  St. 
Matthew  x.  "  He  that  loveth  his  father  or  his  mother 


ISO  DANTE  AND   HIS  TIME 

more  than  me  is  not  worthy  of  me  " ;  and  of  thee,  too,  he 
says,  "  He  who  loveth  a  son  or  a  daughter  more  than  me 
is  not  worthy  of  me."  Thou  oughtest  to  care  for  Him,  O 
my  father,  who  for  our  sake  died  on  the  cross,  that  He 
might  give  life  eternal  unto  us.  For  it  is  He  who  says 
(St.  Matthew  x.),  "  I  am  come  to  set  a  man  at  variance 
against  his  father,  and  the  daughter  against  her  mother, 
and  the  daughter-in-law  against  her  mother-in-law,  and  a 
man's  foes  shall  be  they  of  his  own  household.  And 
whosoever  shall  confess  me  before  men,  him  will  I  con- 
fess also  before  my  Father  which  is  in  heaven,  but  who- 
soever shall  deny  me  before  men,  him  will  I  also  deny 
before  my  Father  which  is  in  heaven."  ?  And  the 
brethren  were  astonished  and  full  of  joy  because  I  said 
such  things  to  my  father.  And  then  my  father  said  to 
the  brethren  :  '  You  have  put  an  evil  charm  on  my  son. 
Let  me  speak  to  him  apart  from  you,  and  you  will  see 
that  he  will  soon  follow  me.'  And  the  brethren  were 
willing  to  concede  it,  for  after  my  words  they  trusted  me 
already  a  little.  But  behind  the  wall  they  stood  listening 
to  what  we  might  speak,  for  they  trembled  like  a  rush  in 
the  water,  lest  my  father  by  his  loving  words  should  un- 
settle my  mind.  And  they  not  only  feared  for  the  salva- 
tion of  my  soul,  but  also  that  my  turning  back  to  the 
world  might  prevent  others  from  entering  the  Order.  And 
my  father  said  to  me  :  '  Beloved  son,  do  not  believe  those 
unclean  frock-bearers  who  fooled  thee,  but  come  with  me, 
and  I  shall  give  thee  all  my  estates.'  And  I  answered 
my  father:  'Go,  go,  father,  for  the  Sage  says  in  the 
Proverbs,  "  Do  not  hinder  him  from  doing  good  who  can 
do  it."  Therefore  farewell,  and  do  good  thyself.'  Then 
my  father  said  with  tears  in  his  eyes  :  '  O  my  son,  what 
am  I  to  say  to  thy  mother,  who  is  unceasingly  grieved 


THE  FRANCISCANS  151 

about  thee  ? '  And  I  answered  to  him  :  '  Thou  wilt  tell 
her  from  me,  Thus  speaketh  thy  son  ;  My  father  and  my 
mother  have  forsaken  me,  the  Lord  has  taken  me  up.' " 

In  this  way  they  went  on  for  some  time,  then  Salim- 
bene  relates :  "  On  hearing  that,  my  father  despaired  of 
my  returning,  and  before  all  the  lords  and  knights  who 
had  come  with  him  and  before  the  brethren  he  flung 
himself  down  on  the  floor  and  said  :  '  I  recommend  thee 
to  a  thousand  devils,  accursed  son,  and  the  brother  who 
is  with  thee,  and  hath  deceived  thee.  My  curse  be  upon 
thee  for  ever,  and  deliver  thee  to  the  spirits  of  hell ! ' 
And  he  went  away  excited  beyond  all  measure.  But  we 
remained  in  great  comfort  and  thanking  God,  and  said : 
1  They  will  curse  and  Thou  wilt  bless ! '  And  the 
brethren  were  very  joyful,  because  the  Lord  had  acted  so 
manfully  in  such  a  boy  as  I  was. 

"  In  that  same  night  the  Holy  Virgin  rewarded  me,  for  it 
seemed  to  me  that  I  lay  prostrate  before  the  altar,  as  the 
brethren  are  wont  to  do  at  morning  service.  And  I  heard 
the  voice  of  the  Holy  Virgin,  who  sat  upon  the  altar  on 
that  place,  where  the  host  and  the  chalice  are  kept,  and 
she  had  her  little  Boy  in  her  lap  and  held  him  out  to  me 
and  said  :  '  Come  nearer  and  be  comforted  and  kiss  my 
Son,  whom  thou  didst  confess  yesterday  before  men  ! ' 
And  still  standing  fearfully  I  saw  the  Child  open  its  arms, 
in  joyful  expectation  of  me.  And  encouraged  by  the 
Boy's  innocence  and  the  playfulness,  and  verily  by  the 
rich  grace  of  the  Mother  herself,  too,  I  stepped  nearer 
and  embraced  and  kissed  Him,  and  the  Mother  bounte- 
ously left  Him  in  my  arms  for  a  long  while.  And  as  I 
could  not  satiate  myself  in  kissing  Him,  the  most  blessed 
Virgin  blessed  me  and  said :  '  Go,  beloved  son,  and  lay 
thee  down  to  rest,  that  the  brethren,  who  rise  for  the 


152  DANTE   AND   HIS  TIME 

morning  service,  may  not  find  thee  here  with  us.'  And 
I  went  to  rest  and  the  vision  vanished.  But  in  my  heart 
there  remained  such  sweetness  that  I  cannot  express  it  in 
words.  And  I  confess  the  truth,  that  never  in  the  world 
did  I  feel  such  sweetness,  and  that  time  I  understood  that 
Holy  Writ  speaks  truth  where  it  says,  *  That  if  a  man 
has  tasted  of  the  Spirit,  all  flesh  will  no  longer  please 
him.' " 

Thus  the  same  ecstasy  had  pervaded  the  religious  life 
of  the  people  which  appeared  in  the  feelings  and  expres- 
sions of  love  of  the  refined.  The  time  had  come  for 
the  most  ecstatic,  the  most  visionary  of  poets,  who  united 
both  the  ecstasy  of  love  and  of  religious  belief,  and  who 
for  a  time  had  been  himself  either  a  Franciscan  novice  or 
a  tertiary. 


CHAPTER  XIII 

FLORENCE 

There  are  towns  on  which  is  shed  a  certain  halo  of  glory, 
of  beauty  and  greatness,  so  that  they  seem  endowed 
with  a  more  intense  and  individual  life  than  others  : 
Athens,  Rome,  Florence,  and  Venice,  London  and  Paris 
are  such,  and  many  a  modern  city  will  increase  this 
number  in  the  course  of  time.  The  number  of  great 
men  and  works  that  Florence  has  produced  is  legion; 
the  historical  events  of  the  town  are  a  miniature  his- 
tory of  the  world.  The  character  of  her  people  has 
been  so  peculiar,  so  sharply  defined,  so  different  from 
all  others,  that  the  town  seems  to  have  harboured  a  race 
peculiarly  her  own.  Much  has  been  written  on  Florence, 
and  yet  until  lately  we  knew  almost  nothing  about  her 
first  centuries.  The  chroniclers  related  the  old  tradition- 
ary fables,  and  historians  more  or  less  merely  copied  the 
chroniclers. 

It  has  been  reserved  for  a  German  historian,  Dr.  Robert 
Davidsohn,  whose  work  appeared  five  years  ago,  to  throw 
light  on  the  darkness  of  so  many  centuries ;  and,  as  it 
were,  by  a  lucky  excavation  he  has  put  us  into  a  position 
to  see  little  old  Florence  arise  and  gradually  extend  and 
grow  before  our  eyes.  That  its  mother-town  was  Fiesole 
was  long  known.     Atalantus,  a  nephew  of  Jupiter  and 


154  DANTE  AND   HIS  TIME 

grandson  to  Nimrod,  so  Villani  tells,  is  said  to  have 
founded  it  as  the  first  town  after  the  Deluge.  He  spoke 
the  words,  "  Fia  sola!  "  ("  Let  her  be  alone")  and  from 
that  the  towns  name  was  derived.  History,  however, 
apprises  us  that  from  immemorial  times  a  Tuscan  town, 
called  Faesulae,  was  seated  on  the  hill,  and  that  by  its 
citizens  a  colony  was  founded  on  the  plain  called 
Florentia,  and  destroyed  by  Sulla  in  the  year  82  B.C. 
The  new  Roman  Florence  was  founded  about  the  year 
49  B.C.  by  Caesar,  or  at  least  in  following  out  his  agrarian 
laws.  The  town  soon  became  richly  adorned,  and  in  later 
years  shared  the  fate  of  the  Roman  towns  in  the  declin- 
ing and  falling  empire.  After  having  been  several  times 
captured  and  plundered  in  the  many  wars  of  those  terrible 
centuries,  it  was  repeatedly  occupied  and  besieged  in  the 
Gothic  wars  by  both  sides ;  the  city  legend  of  later  cen- 
turies, confounding  the  Gothic  king  Totila  with  Attila, 
related  that  Totila  and  the  Huns  destroyed  it,  whereupon 
it  lay  in  ruins  for  more  than  two  hundred  years,  until 
Charlemagne  restored  it.  History  knows  nothing  of  all 
this ;  it  records  but  the  fact  that  Charlemagne  repeatedly 
sojourned  in  Florence,  and  that  he  deposed  the  Longobard 
Duke  Gudibrand  from  his  office,  and  in  his  place  appointed 
Count  Scrot,  from  the  Lake  of  Constance,  to  be  Count  01 
Florence-Fiesole.  From  that  time  German  margraves 
governed  in  Tuscany,  most  of  them  of  Frankish  origin, 
until  they  were  supplanted  later  by  Vicars  of  the  Empire. 
The  names  of  the  noble  families,  the  Counts  Alberti, 
Aldobrandeschi,  Guidi,  likewise  betray  their  German 
origin.  They  for  the  time  were  the  real  masters  of  the 
land,  ruling  it  from  their  castles.  The  inhabitants  of  the 
town  were  mostly  tenants  and  serfs.  Yet,  being  the 
dwelling-place  of  the  bishop  and  his  chapter,  it  was  not 


FLORENCE  155 

without  a  certain  importance.     A  viscount  dealt  justice  in 
it  in  the  place  of  the  marquis. 

How  much  or  how  little  time  the  new  municipality  took 
to  develop,  the  exact  date  when  it  began  to  play  a  part 
and  to  become  a  social  power,  is  not  quite  known.  Yet 
we  find  that  certain  lordly  privileges,  which  formerly  had 
been  reserved  to  the  high-born  few,  soon  were  granted  to 
the  new  communities  of  the  lower  class.  Florence  levied 
an  urban  tax  as  early  as  the  eleventh  century,  and  the 
first  municipal  offices  are  to  be  found  about  the  same  time. 
Noble  families,  like  those  of  the  Suavizi,  the  Gotizi,  the 
Figuinildi  (all  names  of  German  origin),  began  to  pass 
several  months  of  the  year  in  the  town.  Already  the  city 
seems  to  have  enjoyed  a  certain  degree  of  independence. 
The  Pisans  could  say  to  the  Pope,  "  We  are  neither  lords 
nor  serfs,"  and  combats  were  fought  for  these  privileges 
even  against  the  duke-marquis. 

In  the  beginning  this  development  was  unconscious, 
being  simply  a  consequence  of  the  concentration  of  forces 
in  one  place.  But  from  the  twelfth  century  the  citizens 
became  conscious  of  their  power  and  of  the  ways  to 
increase  it,  and  they  began  a  slow  and  well-meditated 
warfare  against  the  noble  families,  who  were  rulers  of 
the  land.  The  names  of  205  castles  which  existed  in  the 
county  about  the  year  1200  have  been  preserved,  but 
there  undoubtedly  were  many  more  of  them.  One  after 
the  other  fell  in  those  endless  little  wars,  being  either 
razed,  occupied  or  subjected,  and  whosoever  to-day 
travelling  through  Tuscany  sees  the  fortresses  of  Monte- 
lupo,  Capraja,  Certaldo,  Colle  di  Val  d'  Elsa,  and  all  the 
numerous  little  towns  and  ruined  castles,  with  their  high 
walls  built  in  the  rocks,  may  think  how  often  the  scaling- 
ladders  were  placed  against  them,  and  how  often  armed 


156  DANTE  AND   HIS   TIME 

men  rolled  down  from  them  into  the  ditch  below.  One 
lordly  race  after  the  other  —  the  Aldobrandeschi,  the 
Buondelmonti — were  constrained  to  pass  a  part  of  the 
year  in  the  town,  and  so  become  members  of  the  com- 
mune. In  the  year  1 108  the  Alberti,  descended  from  the 
blood  of  Frankish  dukes,  were  made  to  swear  "in  a 
doleful  voice  "  to  renounce  all  taxes  which  until  now  they 
had  levied  from  the  citizens  passing  through  their  terri- 
tory. Such  was  also  the  fate  of  the  Adimari.  The  wars 
against  the  Guidi  never  ended. 

The  city  often  made  a  pretext  of  fighting  for  the  rights 
of  their  bishop,  and  a  candle  of  wax,  which  the  foe  was 
bound  to  furnish  at  the  Feast  of  St.  John  the  Baptist  in 
Florence,  was  usually  the  sign  of  his  subjection.  Of 
course,  wars  against  the  neighbouring  towns  were  not 
wanting.  In  such  case  the  Martinella,  the  war-bell,  rang 
for  a  whole  month,  and  the  Carroccio,  the  car  of  the 
banner,  drawn  by  oxen,  went  out  with  the  army.  The 
city  did  not  shrink  from  opposing  the  emperor  himself : 
Henry  UL  was  -the  first_who  had-to-besiege  it.  That 
time  it  had  but  been  the  Marchioness  Matilda  who 
defended  her  capital  against  the  enemy  of  her  papal 
friend;  but  in  the  year  IJ55  Florence  herself  shut  her 
gates  on  Barbarossa.  In  vain  the  Emperor  raised  the 
Guidi,  the  Alberti  and  Aldobrandeschi  to  the  rank  of 
Princes  of  the  Empire,  in  vain  did  he  confiscate  all  the 
town's  rights  beyond  her  walls — the  invincible  progress, 
which  implied  a  shifting  of  all  powers,  was  not  to  be 
impeded.  The  town  knew  how  to  recover  the  lost  rights, 
and  not  the  new  Princes  of  the  Empire,  but  the  towns, 
united  in  the  Guelf  Tuscan  League,  became  the  ruling- 
power  in  Tuscany. 

About  the  year  I20ftthe  town  was  governed-by  consuls 


FLORENCE  157 

and  their  councils.  The  people  assembled  in  the  church 
of  St.  Reparata,  organised  in  guilds  or  according  to  the 
town  quarters.  Industry  began  to  develop,  the  manu- 
facture of  silk,  paper,  furs,  carved  ivory  and  the  gold- 
smiths art  soon  attained  a  high  degree  of  perfection  in 
Florence.  With  Pisa  and  Bologna  the  town  stood  in 
constant  commercial  relations.  Her  factories  were  to  be 
found  in  Messina;  bafaking-houses_arose  and  acquired 
great  wealth.  How  important  the  coinage  of  the  town 
was  and  how  widely  spread  her  commerce  is  proved  by 
the  town's  name  being  commemorated  to  this  day  in  the 
"4lQritt."  Around  the  town  lay  a  fruitful  and  well- 
cultivated  land,  rich  in  wine,  corn,  oil,  fruits  and  herbs. 
On  market-days  once  a  week  the  roads  were  crowded 
with  ox-carts  bringing  the  corn  into  town  and  mules 
carrying  oil  and  wine.  The  smaller  commerce  was  carried 
on  by  pedlars.  In  every  village  physicians  and  apothe- 
caries were  to  be  found.  Schools  began  to  be  established, 
and  before  long  a  law-school  was  founded  in  Florence. 
The  town  itself  was  a  gloomy  grey  little  place,  surrounded 
by  its  second  wall,  the  first  having  proved  too  limited, 
with  narrow  streets,  houses  with  jutting  upper  storeys 
built  in  the  style  which  is  called  Italian-Gothic,  small 
squares  and  countless  towers,  for  the  various  quarters 
were  all  organised  in  small  corporations,  each  of  which 
kept  a  common  tower  for  the  sake  of  quick  defence  in 
case  of  riot.  In  it  dwelled  a  warlike  and  money-loving 
people,  gifted  and  humorous,  whose  life  passed  in  petty 
business  and  little  wars.  The  year  was  interrupted  by 
fifty-two  Sundays  and  fifty-six  holidays.  At  the  great 
Church  festivals  processions  with  flaming  candles  marched 
through  the  town,  on  the  day  of  St.  Agatha  all  the  church 
bells  were  rung,  and  on  one  and  the  same  day  at  Easter- 


158  DANTE   AND  HIS  TIME 

time  all  the  children  born  in  the  year  were  baptized  in 
that  old  baptistery  of  San  Giovanni,  who  was  the  town's 
patron.  Of  art  and  culture  there  are  but  few  traces  to  be 
found  from  those  times,  but  all  people  were  devoted  to 
chivalrous  exercise,  and  a  great  number  of  clubs  served  to 
promote  sociability  and  perfection  in  arms. 

This  small  grey  town  was  the  bud  from  which  in  the 
thirteenth  century,  the  century  of  revolution,  the  Florence 
of  the  Renaissance  began  its  glorious  unfolding.  The 
Florentines  afterwards  praised  this  time  as  the  golden 
era.     Dante  sang  of  it : 

Florence,  whose  ancient  walls  around  her  soil 

Still  hear  the  tierce  and  nones  of  neighbouring  shrine, 
Was  chaste  and  sober  and  without  turmoil. 

No  golden  chains,  no  crosses,  that  glittering  shine, 
Nor  sandalled  dames  had  she,  nor  bordered  zone 
That  from  the  wearer  drew  the  gazer's  eyne ; 

She  made  not  then  the  father's  heart  to  groan 

O'er  daughters'  births,  for  then  the  year  and  dower 
Had  not,  this  side  or  that,  due  bounds  outgrown, 

No  homes  undwelt  in  had  she  in  that  hour, 

Not  then  had  come  a  new  Sardanapal 
To  show  a  wanton  chambering's  evil  power. 

Bellincion  Berti  saw  I  girdled  go 

With  bone  and  leather,  and  I  saw  his  bride 
Turn  from  her  mirror  with  no  painted  show. 

A  Nerli  and  a  Vecchio,  too,  I  spied, 

Content  with  dress,  where  plain  buff  met  the  eye, 
Their  wives  with  flax  and  spindle  occupied. 

O  happy  they  !— and  each  might  certain  die 
Of  her  own  burial-place,  and  none  was  yet 
For  France  left  lonely  in  her  bed  to  lie. 


FLORENCE  159 

This  o'er  the  cradle  watchful  care  did  set, 

And  hushed  her  infant  with  the  babbling  speech, 
Which  doeth  in  parents'  hearts  delight  beget ; 

That  from  her  distaff  would  the  long  thread  reach, 

And  as  she  conversed  with  her  family, 
Of  Trojans,  Fiesole  and  Rome,  would  teach, 

Men  then  had  seen  with  full  as  wondering  eye 

A  Cianghella  or  a  Saltorell 
As  now  a  Cincinnate  or  Cornelie. 

To  such  fair  life,  where  all  sped  calm  and  well 

True  life  of  citizens,  to  such  a  share 
In  citizenship  true,  to  such  hostel, 

Did  Mary  give  me,  called  by  many  a  prayer 

To  that  your  old  baptistery,  wherein 
Christian's  and  Cacciaguida's  name  I  bare, 

(Plumptre.) 

These  are  the  words  uttered  in  Paradise  by  Dante's 
ancestor  Cacciaguida  to  his  grandson,  but,  to  tell  the 
truth,  the  customs  of  the  good  old  time  were,  as  ever, 
only  ruder,  not  better. 

Until  then  Florence,  despite  all  her  achievements,  had 
been  a  relatively  insignificant  town.  Rome ,  was  the 
imperial  city,  the  place  of  coronation.  Venice  was  one  of 
the  first  powers  in  Europe,  the  Lombards  were  the  re- 
doubted foes  of  the  Emperor,  Pisa  ruled  Corsica  and 
Sardinia,  Genoa  rivalled  her  and  Venice,  Bologna  shone 
by  the  glory  of  her  schools.  Florence  was  the  last  in  the 
line,  but  now  her  time  had  come.  For  the  second  time 
she  broke  her  walls  and  surrounded  herself  with  the  third 
and  last.  The  great  and  celebrated  buildings  were  begun 
and  the  first  great  names  meet  our  eyes.  Until  then  the 
town  had  been  a  dull  mass ;  now  individualities  began  to 


160  DANTE   AND   HIS   TIME 

detach  themselves  from  the  crowd,  a  sure  sign  that  the 
dark  age  was  over. 

In  politics  the  town  generally  had  stood  on  the  Church's  • 
side,  in  the  War  of  Investiture  as  well  as  against  the 
Hohenstaufens ;  but  now  the  struggle  between  Guelfs  and 
Ghibellines  first  began  to  stir  and  to  shake  the  inmost 
life  of  the  city.  Parallel  with  it  went  on  the  discord 
between  the  nobility  and  the  common  people,  by  which,  as 
in  ancient  Rome  the  complicated  Florentine  constitution 
was  formed.  The  interior  history  of  the  city  became  full 
of  dramatic  interest  with  constant  revolutions,  turbulent 
street  riots  and  wild  rebellious  uprisings  of  the  people. 
A  few  brilliant  or  sturdy  figures  detached  themselves 
from  the  angry  crowd;  they  do  but  pass  the  scene  to 
perish,  the  catastrophe  of  their  tragedies  being  either  the 
scaffold  or  exile.  Beautiful  episodes  in  the  drama  are 
the  flowery  feasts  and  the  love-affairs,  graceful  or  bloody, 
which  were  glorified  by  the  great  poets  of  later  years. 
The  scene  is  the  ever  more  glorious  city,  art  and  artists 
play  their  parts,  the  drama  becomes  ever  more  varied  and 
broader,  Rome  and  the  emperors  take  part  in  it — Charles  V. 
besieges  the  town  for  a  Medicean  pope's  sake,  and 
Michael  Angelo  directs  the  construction  of  fortifications 
against  him — until  it  gradually  runs  out  like  so  many 
dramas  of  history  and  ends  in  despotic  rigidity. 

The  time  of  Dante's  life  inarks^but „its_beginni»§.  The 
citizens  were  divided  into  the  "  Grandi,"  that  is,  the  mem- 
bers of  the  old  nobility,  and  the  people.  The  rich  mer- 
chants, who  were  called  the  "  popolo  grasso,"  soon  were 
separated  from  the  rest  of  the  people,  who  in  their  turn 
became  divided  into  the  lesser  guilds  and  into  the  "  plebe 
minuta,"  the  working  class.  The  incessant  conflicts,  \ 
against  which  the  judicial  officers  proved  of  no  avail,  led 


Florence  161 

in  Florence,  as  in  many  other  towns,  to  the  institution  of 
the  "podesta,"  that  is,  a  foreign  nobleman  being  intrusted 
with  its  government,  or  rather  with  the  highest  judicial 
power. 

Only  an  honest  and  powerful  man  of  noble  and,  of  course, 
foreign  birth  could  be  elected  to.  that  office.  His  salary 
varied  according  to  the  importance  and  opulence  of  the 
town  he  was  called  to  govern.  We  know  of  "  podestas  " 
who  received  1500  gold  florins.  On  his  arrival  in  the 
town,  the  knights  and  the  common  people,  the  bishop  and 
the  ex-podesta  at  their  head,  went  out  to  meet  him.  Some- 
times he  was  greeted  by  maidens  bearing  green  branches. 
On  entering  the  city  he  went  to  a  church  to  pray,  after  which 
he  swore  to  observe  the  statutes,  and  summoned  a  general 
assembly  for  the  next  Sunday.  His  court  and  his  chancery, 
his  notaries,  judges,  armed  men  afoot  and  on  horseback, 
his  marshals  and  knights,  were  all  foreigners,  whom  he 
brought  with  him.  He  was  clad  in  a  scarlet  robe,  but 
during  his  term  of  office  he  was  neither  allowed  to  leave 
the  town,  nor  to  dine  out  with  any  of  the  citizen's,  nor 
even  to  have  social  intercourse  with  them,  so  deep  was  the 
mistrust  of  the  parties.  Another  condition  generally  im- 
posed on  the  podesta  was  his  being  forbidden  to  bring  a 
wife  with  him.  The  first  podesta  was  called  to  Florence 
in  the  year  1207. 

The  Florentine  chroniclers  and  historians  record  that  the 
great  party-dissensions  first  broke  out  in  the  year  12 15. 
But  we  know,  as  Dr.  Davidsohn  has  pointed  out,  that  long 
before  that  time,  and  particularly  about  the  year  1170  wild 
turmoils  and  party-struggles  raged  in  the  streets  of  Flor- 
ence, in  which  barricades  were  thrown  up,  from  all  towers 
projectiles  were  shot,  houses  were  burnt  and  torn  down. 
But,  strange  to  say,  all  this  entirely  fell  into  oblivion,  and 

L 


i62  DANTE  AND   HIS  TIME 

the  origin  of  the  great  wars  of  the  parties  was  traced  back 
to  a  love-affair  of  a  Buondelmonte,  who  had  been  engaged 
to  a  lady  of  the  Amidei,  but,  a  few  days  before  that  fixed 
for  the  wedding,  clandestinely  married  the  beautiful 
Aldruda,  the  daughter  of  Messer  Fortiguerra  Donati.  The 
offended  family  took  council  with  their  friends,  and  the 
debate  running  on.  to  some  length,  Mosca  de'  Lamberti, 
whose  punishment  Dante  witnessed  in  hell,  ended  it  with 
the  famous  words,  "  Cosa  fatta  capo  ha."  *  On  the  next 
day  Buondelmonte  was  slain  on  the  old  bridge  at  the  foot 
of  the  ancient  statue  of  Mars. 

From  that  time  the  nobility  and  the  people  also  were 
divided  into  the  twohistorical  parties;  but  one  must  be  care- 
ful not  to  overvalue  their  names.  Not  Church  and  Emperor 
were  the  essential  causes  of  discord  for  the  Italian  Guelfs 
and  Ghibellines.  They  only  inclined  to  one  of  these  two  I 
powers  to  back  their  proper  aims  and  interests.  Neither 
was  it,  as  sometimes  has  been  said,  an  uprising  of  Guelf 
patriots  against  the  foreign  yoke  ;  in  Florence,  for  instance, 
the  Guelfs  favoured  the  French  policy  to  such  a  degree 
that  it  became  the  universal  belief  that  the  lily  in  their  coat 
of  arms  was  derived  from  the  French  lily,  and  had  been 
transferred  to  the  Florentine  shield  on  their  own  demand 
and  by  special  permission  of  the  French  king,  j*  No,  all  the 
countless  causes  of  dissension  which  can  and  will  arise  in 
so  troubled  a  time  and  in  a  country  so  torn  in  itself,  all  the 
many  conflicting  interests,  the  differences  of  races,  classes, 
and  rival  cities,  the  combat  of  great  ideas  as  well  as  the 
smallest  local  enmities  and  family  feuds,  were  all  covered, 

*  "  A  thing  done  is  over.". 

f  The  Guelfs  in  the  year  12 15  had  chosen  the  red  lily  in  a  white 
field,  while  the  Ghibellines  kept  to  the  old  shield  with  the  white  lily  in 
red. 


FLORENCE  163 

and  in  each  town  differently,  by  the  names  of  the  two  great 
parties.     The  only  thing  common  to  all  was  strife. 

In  Florence  the  chiefs  of  the  Ghibellines  were  the  family 
of  the  Uberti,  and,  assisted  by  the  Hohenstaufens,  they 
were  victorious  for  a  while.  Frederic  sent  his  natural  son 
Frederic  of  AntiocH  to  Florence  as  podesta. 

The  Guelfs  left  the  city  and  their  towers  were  de- 
molished. This  happened  in  the  year  1249.  Two  years 
afterwards  Frederick  II.  was  dead,  and  the  people  imme- 
diately called  back  the  Guelfs.  The  Florentine  people 
assembled  in  the  Church  of  San-Lorenzo,  where  the  first 
democratic  constitution  was  decreed.  It  organised  itself 
under  1 10  banners,  twenty-four  for  the  town  and  eighty- 
six  for  the  open  country.  At  their  heads  stood  the 
"Capitano  del  popolo,"  who,  like  the  podesta,  had  to  be 
a  foreigner.  Both  held  the  1  offices  of  chief-justices  of 
the  town.  The  highest  legislative  power  was  conferred 
on  the  twelve  H  Anziani,"  two  for  each  of  the  six  town- 
quarters.  The  popular  origin  of  this  revolution,  which 
was  called  the  " Popolo  vecchio"  (something  like  "old 
popular  constitution  "),  is  made  manifest  by  a  law  which 
fixed  the  permitted  height  of  the  towers  on  the  noblemen's 
palaces  to  180  feet  instead  of  320,  as  it  had  been  before. 
The  Ghibelline  nobility  refusing  to  submit,  and  conspiring 
against  the  constitution,  first  its  leaders,  and  then,  in  the 
year  1258,  the  whole  party  was  banished  from  the  town. 
They  assembled  at  Siena,  always  hostile  to  Florence,  and 
prepared  for  armed  resistance,  "  Better  die  on  the  spot 
than  miserably  wander  through  the  wide  world,"  said  their 
chief,  Farinata  degli  Uberti.  King  Manfred  sent  Count 
Giordano  Lancia  with  800  knights  to  their  reinforcement. 
The  city  of  Florence  equipped  an  army  of  30,000  men  on 
foot  and  3000  horse,  nevertheless  at  Montaperti  they  were 


1 64  DANTE  AND   HIS   TIME 

totally  defeated.  That  was  the  battle  "  which  made  the 
Arbia  flow  in  colour  red,"  and  of  which  one  may  hear  the 
Sienese  proudly  boast  to  this  day.  The  Guelfs  retired  to 
Lucca,  and — a  fact  highly  characteristic  for  the  Italian 
parties — applied  for  help  to  Conradin  of  Hohenstaufen, 
who  then  was  a  boy  of  twelve  years.  The  embittered 
victors  wanted  to  destroy  Florence,  and  it  was  saved  only 
by  the  very  decided  resistance  of  Farinata  the  "  High- 
minded,"  as  Dante  calls  him,  who  finds  him  in  hell  lying 
among  the  heretics  in  their  fiery  coffins.  He  declared 
that  he  would  rather  turn  his  sword  against  his  allies  than 
suffer  Florence  to  be  destroyed.  The  constitution  was 
abolished,  Count  Guido  Novello  was  elected  podesta,  and 
during  five  years  the  Ghibelline  nobility  ruled  Florence 
with  a  high  hand.  After  this  term  Manfred  was  forced 
by  his  own  precarious  situation  to  call  back  Giordano 
with  his  auxiliaries,  and  soon  after  fell  himself,  on  Feb- 
ruary 26,  1 266,  in  the  battle  of  Benevento  against  Charles 
of  Anjou.  This  was  the  end  of  the  handsome  fair-haired 
King  Manfred,  whose  name  was  glorified  by  so  many  bards, 
and  of  whom  a  French  trouvere  sang  the  following  verses : 

Biaus  chevalier  et  preus 
Et  sage  fu  Mainfrois, 
De  toutes  bonnes  teches 
Ent&chies  et  courtois, 
En  lui  ne  falloit  riens, 
Forsque  seulement  fois ; 
Mais  cette  faute  est  laide 
En  contes  et  en  Rois. 

In  vain  had  he  asked  the  Pope  for  peace.  Clement 
answered  :  "  Let  King  Manfred  know  that  the  time  of 
grace  is  over.  There  is  time  for  all,  but  all  is  not  in  time. 
The  hero  already  steps  forth  in  arms,  the  axe  is  laid  to 


FLORENCE  165 

the  root."  Charles  refused  burial  to  his  corpse.  The 
French  soldiers,  however,  full  of  admiration  for  the  gallant 
prince,  buried  him  against  their  king's  will.  But  the  papal 
legate,  the  Archbishop  of  Cosenza,  of  the  house  of  Pigna- 
telli,  ordered  the  corpse  to  be  dug  out  again  and  to  be 
thrown  away,  because  of  his  having  died  excommunicated 
by  the  Church.  Nevertheless  Dante,  in  the  seventh  canto 
of  Purgatory,  meets  one  "who  was  fair-haired,  hand- 
some, and  of  graceful  looks,  but  his  brow  was  split  by  a 
sword-cut,"  and  who  on  his  astonished  question  gives 
answer : 

Salvation  is  not  lost  by  a  priest's  curse, 
And  ever  may  eternal  love  give  grace. 

XThe  Guelfs  in  Tuscany  immediately  began  to  stir; 
an  attempt  of  the  Ghibellines  to  reconcile  them  being 
foiled,  Guido  Novello  left  Florence  accompanied  by  1 500 
knights.  In  the  meantime  Conradin  had  passed  the  Alps. 
The  Guelfs,  who  seven  years  before  had  called  on  him  to 
assist  them,  now  applied  to  Charles,  who  sent  the  Count 
of  Montfort  with  860  French  knights  to  them.  Without 
waiting  for  his  arrival,  the  Ghibellines  left  the  city  for 
ever,  on  the  Saturday  of  Easter  1267.  Two  years  before 
that  event  Dante  was  born.  Henceforth  the  town  was 
Guelf.  The  Ghibellines'  estates  were  confiscated  and 
divided,  and  the  "Capitani  di  Parte  Guelfa,"  that  is,  the 
heads*of  the  Guelf  party,  henceforth  were  the  chiefs  of  the 
town. 

This  result  by  no  means  implies  that  the  town  was  the 
Church's.  Besides,  the  great  combat  had,  as  almost  all 
protracted  historical  struggles  do,  led  to  quite  different 
results  than  those  which  the  conflicting  parties  had  fought 
for.     The  Empire  and  the  Papacy  had  killed  each  other. 


166  DANTE  AND    HIS   TIME 

In  the  great  theocratic  sense  of  the  mediaeval  ideal  they 
had  ceased  to  exist.  The  Empire  had  died  with 
Frederick  II.  The  Papacy  fell  fifty  years  later  with  Boni- 
face VIII.  Henceforth  their  world-dominating  power  not 
only  had  to  abandon  all  hope  of  ever  becoming  established 
in  fact,  but  was  not  even  acknowledged  as  a  right.  Hence-f 
forth  there  was  no  longer  one  comprehensive  empire  in 
Europe,  but  national  states,  or  groups  of  such.  The  old 
imperial  and  theocratic  ideas  still  lived  on  in  the  minds  of 
the"  people,  but  only  to  prove  their  practical  impotence. 
France  henceforth  was  France,  Germany  was  essentially 
Germany,  and  Florence  was  the  republic  of  Florence,  no 
inconsiderable  power  among  the  others. 

The  city,  though  it  had  become  Guelf  throughout,  was 
not  on  this  account  more  settled  or  peaceful.  The  social 
preponderance  of  the  nobility,  and  the  consequent  dis- 
content of  the  people,  caused  constant  dissension  and 
troubles,  until  they  led  to  the  famous  second  democratic 
revolution  of  1282,  which  was  a  bloodless  one,  and  was 
called  the  "  secondo  popolo."  By  the  new  constitution 
the  guilds  were  made  the  basis  of  the  town's  government  ; 
there  were  seven  higher  guilds:  1,  the  lawyers;  2,  the 
clothiers ;  3,  the  money-changers ;  4,  the  wool  manufac- 
turers;  5,  physicians  and  pharmacists;  6,  silk-merchants; 
7,  the  furriers.  The  five  lesser  guilds  were :  1,  the  small 
merchants  of  cloth ;  2,  the  butchers ;  3,  the  shoemakers 
and  stocking-weavers;  4,  the  carpenters  and  masons;  5, 
the  smiths  and  ironworkers.  Later  on  were  added  nine 
"  small  guilds  "  of  the  smaller  mechanics.  At  the  head 
of  the  administration  were  placed  six  Priors,  "to  super- 
intend the  treasury,  to  deal  justice  to  all,  and  to  protect 
the  weak  and  the  powerless  against  the  great  and 
strong."     Art    electoral    committee,    consisting    of    the 


FLORENCE  167 

retiring  Priors,  the  councillors,  the  heads  of  the  guilds, 
and  assessors  appointed  by  the  committee  itself,  elected 
in  secret  and  complicated  ballot  126  Priors  for  forty- 
two  months,>  six  of  whom  were  drawn  by  lot  to  govern 
the  town  in  turns  of  two  months.  While  their  term 
lasted  they  dwelt  in  the  Palazzo  del  Popolo.  The 
highest  judicial  power  remained  in  the  hands  of  the 
podesta,  the  military  command  in  those  of  the  Capitano 
del  Popolo.  ' 

A  whole  system  of  councils  participated  in  the  govern- 
ment, and  thus  limited  the  power  of  the  "  Signori,"  as  the 
Priors  were  also  called.  Only  the  drafting  of  the  laws 
and  the  introduction  of  them  in  the  Council  fell  to  their 
office.  But  even  that  they  were  bound  to  do  in  common 
with  the  '"  Savi,"  the  "  wise  men,"  and  with  the  heads  of 
the  guilds  who  had  the  right  of  sitting  and  voting  in  all 
assemblies.  The  "  Savi,"  or  "  Buoni  Uomini  "  (good  men), 
were  twelve  or  fourteen  in  number,  and  deliberated  either 
alone  or  with  other  "  Savi "  selected  from  the  different 
quarters,  or  with  the  heads  of  the  guilds.  Then  there  was 
the  "  Consiglio  speciale  "  or  "  di  Credenza,"  and  the  "  Con- 
siglio  generale  "  of  the  "  Capitano  del  Popolo,"  which 
assembled  in  the  episcopal  palace,  and  later  on  in  San 
Piero  Scheraggio.  Further  councils  were  the  "  Consiglio 
generale"  of  the  Three  Hundred,  and  the  " Consiglio 
speciale"  of  the  Ninel^n^er^Gbmune."  Both  were  pre- 
sided over  f by  the  podesta.  From  the  year  1289  there 
existed  a  sixth  council,  that  of  the  Hundred,  which  was 
composed  of  "  popolani "  alone,  for  preliminary  delibera- 
tion on  the  public  expenses  and  other  difficult  matters. 

This  constitution  was  far  from  being  stable,  and  its 
changes  were  manifold.  But  its  state  at  the  time  when 
Dante  took  an  active  part  in  the  politics  of  his  native  city 


1 68  DANTE  AND   HIS  TIME 

was  much  as  described/  Whatever  the  Priori  had  discussed 
and  settled  either  for  themselves  with  the  capitano  or  the 
podesta  or  with  their  different  assistant  councillors  had 
to  pass  through  all  the  councils  one  after  the  other.  This, 
of  course,  caused  much  talking  and  debating  and  referring, 
and  the  whole  proceeding  was  rather  long-winded.  Some- 
times the  debate  seems  to  have  been  lengthened,  as  it  were, 
with  conscious  mockery.  An  ambassador  from  Lucca 
asking  when  the  Florentine  army  would  set  out  against 
the  Pisans,  seven  different  sessions  of  councils  were 
summoned  from  May  7  to  25  to  answer  his  question ; 
at  the  end  he  was  baffled  by  the  reply  that  the  army 
would  move  on  a  certain  day  unless  there  should  occur 
anything  new,  or  any  cause  should  arise  which  would 
make  it  advisable  to  postpone  the  march.  All  the  councils 
invariably  had  to  be  consulted  on  anything  that  was 
against  the  constitution,  as  well  as  on  all  important  pro- 
posals, expenses  and  similar  questions.  Other  matters 
belonged  to  the  competence  of  only  one  council.  Within 
the  first  fortnight  of  their  office  the  Priors  were  bound  to 
summon  a  general  assembly  of  the  people,  in  which  every 
citizen  had  the  right  of  motion.  In  case  of  need,  extra- 
ordinary assemblies  of  the  people  were  summoned;  it 
was  in  such  a  meeting  that  Dante,  the  motion  being  to 
grant  the  Pope's  request  of  assistance  in  his  war  against 
the  Colonna,  gave  his  voice :  quod  nihil  fiat.  The  Savi 
and  the  Capitudini  were  summoned  by  special  messengers, 
all  the  other  councillors  by  heralds,  trumpets,  and  bells. 
The  right  of  JxsJLspeedUn  the  assembly  belonged  to  the 
podesta,  but  if  he  was  represented  by  one  of  his  judges, 
or  whenever  the  capitano  was  alone,  the  first  word  was 
the  latter's.  Then  followed  the  different  orators;  the 
voting  was  performed  by  rising  from  the  chairs,  in  impor- 


FLORENCE  169 

tant  cases  by  little  balls  of  lead,  which  were  thrown  either 
into  a  white  urn,  on  which  was  written  the  Latin  word 
"  sic  "  (yes),  or  into  a  red  one,  on  which  was  written  "  non." 
In  common  cases  the  absolute  majority  decided,  sometimes 
two-thirds  were  required. T~The  "  consigliere  "  had  to  be 
twenty-five  years  old,  and  was  elected  for  six  months  by 
the  Priors,  and  different  "  Savi  "  for  each  quarter  J  When 
this  term  had  elapsed,  he  could  not  be  re-elected  before 
another  six  months  had  past.  The  elected  councillor  was 
bound  to  swear  that  he  would  attend  the  sittings  and 
stay  until  the  close,  unless  the  mover  of  the  bill  gave  him 
permission  to  go.  For  absence  without  leave  he  was 
fined  from  two  to  twenty  solidi.  In  the  protocols  kept  by 
the  notaries  we  find  many  absences  notwithstanding,  and 
all  kinds  of  excuses.  One  councillor  declared  that  he  had 
been  still  in  bed,  another  that  he  had  not  heard  the 
bell.  Whosoever  could  swear  to  this,  and  could  prove 
that  he  had  been  outside  the  town,  was  excused ;  there- 
fore many  councillors  sojourned  in  the  country  as  much 
as  possible. 

This  constitution  was  complicated,  ponderous,  and  yet 
most  unsteady,  but  it  allowed  freest  range  to  all  ten- 
dencies, all  powers  in  the  state  partaking  on  an  almost 
equal  footing  in  the  government.  The  town  was  like  a 
strong  electric  friction  machine,  with  the  electric  force 
streaming  from  countless  points  and  buttons.  And  always 
the  atmosphere  around  it  was  heavily  charged.  But  no 
one-sidedness  was  possible,  every  citizen  being  business 
man,  politician  and  warrior  at  the  same  time. 

Ten  years  later  the  constitution  was  again  revised  amid 
great  turmoil,  and  developed  in  a  democratic  sense.  The 
leader  of  the  popular  party  was  a  nobleman,  Giano  della 
Bella.     By  his  efforts  the  small  corporations  were  allowed 


1 7o  DANTE   AND    HIS   TIME 

to  share  in  the  government.*  At  the  same  time,  thirty- 
three  noble  families  were  for  ever  excluded  from  all  public 
offices,  a  number  of  "  privilegia  invidiosa"  were  created  for 
the  nobility.  Whenever  a  common  citizen  was  killed  by 
a  nobleman's  fault,  the  palace  of  the  nobleman  was  de- 
stroyed and  all  members  of  his  family  held  responsible. 
Two  witnesses  or  public  report  were  sufficient  to  convict  a 
nobleman.  To  sustain  the  people's  authority  a  new 
military  organisation  was  established,  at  the  head  of 
which  was  placed  the  "  Gonfaloniere  della  Giustizia"  (Stan- 
dard-bearer of  Justice).  Under  the  command  of  this 
officer  stood  eighty  companies,  each  of  fifty  men,  whose 
service  was  limited  to  the  town  itself,  and  who  in  their 
banner  bore  the  'scutcheon  of  the  Florentine  people,  which 
was  a  red  cross  in  a  white  shield.  These  laws  were 
executed  as  parties  will  execute  laws ;  not  a  year  had 
passed  before  the  houses  of  the  Galigai  j-  were  demolished 
because  one  of  the  family  had  murdered  a  Florentine 
citizen  in  France.  "  The  Grandees,"  Dino  says,  "  vehe- 
mently complained  of  these  laws,  and  to  those  who 
executed  them  they  said :  '  A  horse  in  running  touches  a 
citizen's  face  with  its  tail,  a  nobleman  in  a  throng  uninten- 
tionally kicks  a  citizen,  he  complains,  and  because  of  such 
trifles  a  man  is  ruined.' "  They  found  ways  to  render 
Giano  della  Bella  suspect  to  the  people,  and  he  met  a 
similar  fate  with  the  Gracchi  and  so  many  other  leaders 
of  the  ungrateful  crowd — death  in  exile.  Villani,  who 
belonged    to    the   opposite  party,   bears   witness  that  he 

*  Later,  in  the  year  1342,  they  received  equal  rights  with  the  greater 
guilds;  in  the  year  1378  the  same  rights  were  extended  to  the  working 
people. 

f  That  is  the  name  given  by  Dino  Compagni,  who  was  in  that  year 
Gonfaloniere,  and  himself  records  the  fact.  Villani  and  Machiavelli 
give  another  name  and  also  another  Gonfaloniere,  Rubaldo  Ruffoli. 


FLORENCE  171 

was  "  the  most  loyal  and  honest  Popolano  of  Florence, 
whose  every  endeavour  was  for  the  common  best ;  a  man 
who  sacrificed  his  possessions  to  the  commonwealth  and 
never  enriched  himself."  Dino  Compagni  likewise  says : 
"  He  was  a  high-minded  man,  and  so  bold,  that  he  took 
upon  himself  what  others  abandoned,  and  spoke  what 
others  never  dared  to  utter. "  Dante  was  seventeen  years 
old  when  this  democratic  revolution  took  place. 

Again  the  people  were  divided  into  two  parties.  The 
nobility  strove  to  recover  their  lost  rights,  and  the  power 
which  they  still  possessed,  in  fact,  almost  amounted  to 
more  than  these  rights  themselves.  The  Ghibellines, 
avowed  or  clandestine,  now  took  the  side  of  the  popular 
party,  because  it  stood  against  the  Guelf  aristocracy. 
The  popular  party,  however,  seems  to  have  behaved  rather 
haughtily  towards  the  still  lower  classes,  and  to  have  ex- 
cluded what  they  called  the  "  mob,"  for  we  soon  shall 
find  the  latter  on  the  side  of  the  Dor^ati. 

The  new  parties  called  themselves  "  Black "  and 
"  White."  The  names  were  derived  from  a  bloody  family 
feud  which  had  broken  out  in  Pistoia  in  consequence  of 
a  cruel  vengeance  between  the  "  black  "  and  the  "  white  " 
Cancellieri,  and  which  by  the  Florentines  declaring  for 
one  or  the  other  party  in  the  subject  town  had  been 
carried  to  Florence.  Messer  Corso  Donati  was  the  leader 
of  the  Blacks — "a  knight  after  the  fashion  of  the  Roman 
Catiline,  but  more  cruel  than  he,  of  noble  blood  and 
handsome  appearance,  a  perfect  orator  with  the  finest 
manners,  acute  mind  and  the  very  worst  disposition,"  that 
is  Dino  Compagni's  description  of  him.  The  very  begin- 
ning of  his  career  was  a  violence  done  to  the  law,  for  he 
liberated  a  criminal  of  noble  birth  with  armed  force.  In 
the  battle  of  Campaldino  it  was  he  who  decided  the  victory 


172  DANTE   AND   HIS   TIME 

by  a  cavalry  attack,  which  he  had  been  forbidden  under 
penalty  of  death  to  make.  His  sister  Piccarda,  who  was 
a  nun,  he  carried  off  from  her  convent  by  force  and 
married  her  to  one  of  his  friends.  He  was  said  to  have 
poisoned  his  wife.  For  the  law  and  the  citizens  he  always 
and  openly  showed  the  utmost  contempt.  Yet  the  people 
admired  him  in  spite  of  their  fear.  "  Evviva  il  Barone  !  " 
was  the  cry  heard  when  on  his  black  horse  he  rode 
through  the  streets  of  Florence.  "  This  Messer  Corso," 
Villani  says,  "was  the  most  intelligent  knight,  the  most 
courageous  and  best  orator,  the  most  able  and  famous 
politician  of  his  time  in  Italy,  a  man  of  strong  passions 
and  great  enterprise."  He  was  Dante's  kinsman  by  mar- 
riage and  his  bitterest  enemy — "The  founder  of  all  evil," 
Dante  calls  him,  and  in  "  Purgatory  "  Buonagiunta  pre- 
dicts his  fearful  end. 

Against  him  stood  the  leader  of  the  "  Bourgeoisie," 
Vieri  de'  Cerchi,  as  proud  and  brave  as  the  other,  but 
irresolute  and  incapable.  The  Cerchi  were  the  first  mer- 
chant house  in  Europe.  They  had  bought  the  palace  of 
the  banished  Count  Guidi,  and  "imitated  the  behaviour 
of  the  nobility,"  as  the  chronicler  tells,  "  nouveaux-riches  " 
of  the  thirteenth  century.  The  "  Intellectuels "  of  the 
city  were  all  on  their  side.  It  is  interesting  to  read  in 
Dino's  book,  who  equally  belonged  to  the  White  party,  by 
what  reasons,  according  to  his  opinion,  influential  Floren- 
tines had  been  decided  to  follow  either  party.  Guido 
Cavalcanti  had  done  so  "  because  he  was  a  personal  enemy 
of  Corso  Donati,"  Naldo  Gherardini  "  out  of  hatred  against 
the  Manieri,"  ManettoScali  "because  hewas  kinsman  to  the 
Cerchi,"  Berto  Frescobaldi  "  because  they  had  lent  him  a 
good  deal  of  money,"  Goccia  Adimari  "  because  he  had 
fallen  out  with  his  family,"  the  young  Bernardo  Adimari 


FLORENCE  173 

"  out  of  good  fellowship,"  those  of  the  house  of  Tosa  "to 
defy  Messer  Rosso,  their  kinsman." 

Both  parties  sought  allies  outside.  Donati  courted  the 
favour  of  the  Pope,  the  others  inclined  to  the  Ghibellines. 
Civil  war  had  become  inevitable,  and  it  broke  out  with 
wild  bloodshed  in  the  year  after  the  Jubilee,  1301 ;  but 
this  event  being  also  the  catastrophe  of  Dante's  life,  who, 
energetic  and  impulsive  as  he  was,  had  become  deeply 
engaged  in  the  politics  of  his  town,  must  be  reserved  to  a 
later  chapter. 

Loud  are  the  laments  of  Dante,  of  Dino  Compagni  on 
this  time  "  of  wrong,  of  scandal,  of  fury  and  of  fratri- 
cide." To  us  it  appears  like  a  dramatic  piece,  in  whose 
conflicts  the  powerful  and  interesting  characters  of  the 
time  were  formed  and  sharpened.  The  great  man  who 
was  entangled  in  it  and  became  its  victim  has  shed  a 
personal  tragic  splendour  on  this  strife,  which  makes  it 
more  attractive  than  those  of  other  cities.  And  amidst 
all  this  trouble  the  city  rose  to  ever  greater  power  and 
beauty.  At  the  same  time,  with  these  internal  dissensions 
and  these  strivings  for  the  constitution,  wars  were  fought 
and  victories  gained  against  Arezzo,  Pisa  and  other  neigh- 
bouring towns.  In  the  short  intervals  between  the  erup- 
tions of  public  wrath  the  fervid  spirit  of  useful  life  and 
the  exuberant  joy  of  this  healthy  generation  continued  to 
celebrate  its  gladsome  feasts.  In  every  town  of  Tuscany 
there  were  social  clubs,  whose  members  enjoyed  and 
spent  their  life  carousing  in  merry  wastefulness.  The 
city  became  ever  more  beautiful.  Dante's  friend,  Giotto, 
delivered  art  from  the  rigid  forms  of  the  earlier  times,  and 
painted  his  frescoes  in  Florence,  as  in  Padua  and  Assisi, 
with  all  his  severe  simplicity,  which  seems  so  character- 
istic of  his  time,  and  which   reappears  in  the  beautiful 


S 


1 74  DANTE   AND   HIS   TIME 

lines  and  cheerful  colours  of  the  tower  he  built  in  Florence, 
which  seems  to  rise  into  the  air,  as  it  were,  on  wings.  In 
the  year  1298  Arnolfo  di  Cambio  began  the  construction 
of  the  "  Palazzo  del  Popolo,"  which,  with  its  strong  and 
powerful  forms,  its  sturdy  battlements,  and  its  slender 
and  daring  tower,  more,  perhaps,  than  any  other  town  hall 
to  this  day  reflects  the  spirit  of  its  time,  a  true  sign  of  old 
popular  sovereignty.  In  its  neighbourhood  stands  the 
Palazzo  del  Podesta,  with  its  wonderful  courtyard,  where 
the  stone  coats  of  arms  on  the  walls  tell  of  the  old  podestas 
of  Florence,  and  on  the  corridor  of  the  first  floor  the  bells 
are  ranged  which  rang  to  the  uproar  of  those  far-gone 
days ;  then  the  light  Church  of  the  Franciscans  of  Santa 
Croce,  Santa  Maria  Novella,  where  the  frescoes  of  Martini 
\  and  Taddeo  Gaddi,  though  belonging  to  a  later  period, 
more  than  others  seem  to  be  imbued  with  the  spirit  of 
Dante.  It  was  a  city,  with  a  small  kingdom's  power,  in 
exuberant  growth.  And  then,  in  the  year  of  the  Jubilee, 
Giovanni  Villani  saw  Rome  decayed  and  fallen,  and  thinking 
of  his  native  town  arising  in  such  splendour,  resolved  to 
write  his  chronicle,  which  is  among  the  best  historical 
works  of  the  Middle  Ages,  and  in  which  a  very  important 
chapter  is  devoted  to  Dante  himself. 

Villani,  of  course,  simply  told  what  he  had  seen  and 
heard.  Every  human  brain  is  a  camera  obscura,  but  the 
lens  through  which  the  rays  enter  will  refract  them  at  very 
different  angles.  We  shall  find  the  same  world  through 
which  until  now  we  have  walked  in  ever  narrower  circles, 
totally  changed  and  altered  in  Dante's  head.  We  shall 
find  it  arranged  as  a  wonderful,  immense  building;  we 
shall  enter  a  cathedral,  the  foundations  of  which  are  laid 
in  the  depths  of  hell,  and  reflect  all  the  horrors  and 
crimes  of  those  wild  and  cruel  times  in  the  terrible  judg- 


FLORENCE  175 

ment  which  the  wrathful  Deity  of  mediaeval  Christendom 
deals.  Then  we  shall  mount  on  serene  and  lucid  stairs, 
leading  on,  through  penitence  to  purification,  to  a  splendour 
of  dazzling  light,  such  as  never  poet  before  or  after  him 
knew  how  to  evoke  in  men's  fancies,  as  painters  may 
perhaps  have  dreamt  but  never  known  to  paint.  And  in 
every  part  of  this  cathedral  we  shall  encounter  the  men 
who  lived  in  the  world  we  have  tried  to  describe,  and  from 
the  howling  yells  deep  below,  through  the  slow,  penitential 
chants  of  the  stairs,  up  to  the  blessed  choirs  in  the  celestial 
space,  there  sounds  one  music  of  many-sounding  har- 
monies, in  which  the  voices  of  all  speakers  join — the  terze 
rime  of  Dante. 

But  the  "  Divine  Comedy  "  is  not  only  an  image  of  the 
time,  it  does  not  only  assemble  the  souls  of  men  in  its  three 
realms,  it  is  at  the  same  time  the  secret  interior  path  of 
Dante  through  his  life.  And  thus  through  his  life  we  shall 
follow  him. 


I     PART  II 
DANTE 


CHAPTER  I 

THE  WORK  OF  DANTE 

Dante's  life  lies  in  his  work.  It  is  a  microcosm,  a  minute 
universe ;  clear  and  brilliant  with  colours  like  a  crystal 
ball  it  lies  before  us,  in  the  firm  structure  of  the  terza  rima 
so  indissoluble  that  not  one  single  verse  could  be  taken  out 
without  destroying  the  whole;  incredibly  small  if  com 
pared  to  the  life-work  of  Shakespeare  or  Goethe,  and  yet 
the  ideal  of  all  poetry  is  fulfilled  in  it.  The  Self  and  the 
World,  which  are  inseparably  mixed  in  every  human  soul, 
are,  as  it  were,  caught  and  reproduced  in  verse,  as  mysti- 
cally and  incomprehensibly  reflected  in  each  other  as 
they  are  in  reality;  an  eternal  image  of  both  the  human 
soul  and  the  world  as  they  were  in  those  days. 

But  of  the  story  of  this  man  who  bequeathed  us  the  key 
to  his  time,  to  whom  his  beautiful  town  owes  its  highest 
and  most  attractive  charm,  we  know  but  little.  The  few 
facts  of  Dante's  life  which  are  indubitable  are  soon  told.* 

*  Most  of  the  so-called  biographies  of  Dante  are  "  romances  founded 
on  improbable  traditions  and  arbitrary  suppositions  "  (Scartazzini).  It 
was  necessary  to  put  to  a  severe  test  the  often  contradictory  notices 
which  his  contemporaries  left  us,  and  to  make  cautious  use  of  the 
important  allusions  in  his  writings.  Not  before  our  own  century,  or 
rather  not  until  the  last  decades  of  it,  did  critical  historians  contrive  to 
lay  bare  a  meagre  thread  which  may  serve  us  to  follow  the  develop- 
ment of  his  work, 


IS 

■J 


180  DANTE  AND   HIS  TIME 

It  were  a  just  cause  of  wonder  that  contemporaries  have 
so  little  to  tell  of  a  man  like  Dante,  and  certainly  some 
notices  were  lost  in  the  course  of  so  many  ages. 

But,  in  general,  Dante's  contemporaries  had  other  cares 
than  to  tell  of  Dante.  For  the  men  of  the  thirteenth  cen- 
tury Dante  was  not  at  all  the  Dante  whom  we  know,  as 
little  as  for  those  of  the  sixteenth  century  Shakespeare 
was  our  "  Shakespeare."  He  was  simply  Dante  Alighieri 
of  St.  Peter's  Gate  in  Florence,  a  scholar,  of  whom  it  was 
known  that  he  had  written  some  fine  poems,  just  as 
Shakespeare  was  to  his  countrymen  a  glove-maker's  son 
from  Stratford,  a  player,  who  used*  to  compose  plays  for 
the  stage. 

When  he  came  to  old  age  he  had  acquired  some  fame, 
though  in  his  latest  years  he  still  could  write  : 

It  would  be  vain  to  tell  you  who  I  am, 
Because  my  name  does  not  yet  sound  afar ; 

but  perhaps  none  of  his  countrymen  had  a  perfect  notion 
of  his  overpowering  greatness,  of  the  breadth  and  depth 
of  his  genius,  of  the  gigantic  edifice  of  his  fancy,  for 
which  he  laid  the  foundation  slowly  year  after  year  by 
his  studies,  by  his  writings,  by  the  events  of  his  life — 
foundations  which  were  so  far  stretched  that  nobody's 
eye  was  sharp  enough  to  encompass  their  circumference. 

To  explain  this  phenomenon,  which  repeats  itself 
throughout  all  history,  Brandes  has  used  the  following 
simile  : 

"  When  a  man  is  twenty  steps  in  advance  of  his  own 
time,  everybody  will  follow  him  and  praise  him  as  the 
guide ;  but  when  he  is  more  than  a  thousand  steps  ahead 
of  his  generation  he  becomes  invisible,  and  long  after  the 
world  walks  in  his  footsteps."     But  that  is  only  a  simile, 


THE  WORK  OF  DANTE  181 

No  one  has  an  idea  of  the  world  existing  in  another's 
soul,  be  it  great  or  small ;  and  just  in  those  men  who  dig 
the  deepest  shafts  and  inclose  the  broadest  fields  work  and 
utterance  are  slow  and  incomprehensible. 

A  hut  may  be  built  in  a  few  days,  but  it  takes  a  long 
time  before  a  layman  will  understand  what  the  foundations 
of  a  large  building  are  made  for,  and  whether  they  have 
any  architectural  meaning  at  all.  It  would  seem  that 
genius  works  in  the  same  way  that  the  spirits  in  the 
"Arabian  Nights  "  built  Aladdin's  palace — one  day  it  stands 
there,  but  nobody  saw  how  it  was  constructed ;  one  day 
the  book  is  published,  the  picture  is  shown,  and  nobody 
knows  that  a  life  was  consumed  in  making  it. 

We  have  a  German  proverb  :  u  Don't  show  a  half- 
finished  house  to  a  fool,"  because  he  never  will  understand 
what  it  is  to  be.  When  it  comes  to  judging  the  half- 
finished  works  of  genius,  almost  all  men  are  fools.  That 
was  the  reason  why  Dante  was  not  recognised. 

With  Shakespeare  the  cause  may  have  been  different  ; 
his  works  were  in  such  a  degree  the  expression  of  his 
time  that  they  seemed  quite  natural  to  his  contemporaries, 
as  natural  as  the  sea,  as  the  rising  of  the  sun,  or  the  new 
vegetation  of  spring  seems  to  be. 

Be  this  as  it  may,  Dante  passed  during  the  first  half  of 
iris  life  for  a  young  man  of  good  family,  who  occasionally 
wrote  fine  poems ;  even  during  the  latter  half  he  was 
a  rather  unimportant,  poor,  woe-stricken,  joyless,  wander- 
ing man,  who  often  did  not  know  how  to  live,  better  known 
as  a  politician  than  as  a  poet,  but  even  as  a  politician  the 
follower  of  a  vanquished  and  hated  party,  a  reactionary 
whose  ideals  and  wishes  were  never  fulfilled  and  never 
could  be. 

All  this  and  much  more  gives  a  tragic  feature  to  his  whole 


182  DANTE  AND   HIS  TIME 

y^life.  He  is,  indeed,  one  of  the  most  tragic  men  known  to 
■*!  history.  A  man  from  whose  very  temperament  necessarily 
resulted  the  most  painful  conflicts,  such  as  inevitably 
separate  a  strongly  developed,  towering  personality  from 
his  time  and  his  world.  No  element  of  tragedy  is  wanting, 
not  even  the  "  Katharsis,"  the  melodious  strain  with  which 
the  pilgrimage  of  his  life  closed.  So  Carlyle  describes 
his  face  on  that  portrait  which,  "  looking  at  it,  you  cannot 
help  inclining  to  think  genuine." 

"A  most  touching  face,  perhaps  of  all  faces  that  I 
know  the  most  so.     Lonely  there,  painted  as  on  vacancy, 
with   the   simple  laurel  wound  round  it;  the  deathless 
sorrow  and  pain,  the  known  victory  which  is  also  death- 
less ; — significant  of  the  whole  histor}'  of  Dante  !     I  think 
it  is  the  mournfulest  face  that  ever  was  painted  from 
reality;  an  altogether  tragic,  heart-affecting  face.     There 
is  in  it,  as   foundation   of  it,  the  softness,   tenderness, 
gentle  affection  as  of  a  child ;  but  all  this  as  if  congealed 
into  sharp  contradiction,  into  abnegation,  isolation,  proud 
hopeless  pain.     A  soft  ethereal  soul  looking  out  so  stern, 
implacable,   grim-trenchant,    as    from    imprisonment    of 
/thick-ribbed  ice !     Withal  it  is  a  silent  pain  too,  a  silent 
/    scornful  one  :  the  lip  is  curled  in  a  kind  of  god-like  disdain, 
J      of  the  thing  that  is  eating  out  his  heart — as  if  it  were 
*\       withal  a  mean  insignificant  thing,  as  if  he  whom  it  had 
V  power  to  torture  and  strangle  were  greater  than  it.     The 
face  of  one  wholly  in  protest,  and  lifelong  unsurrendering 
battle   against   the   world.     Affection   all  converted  into 
Indignation  ;  slow,  equable,  sflent7Iike  that  ofagbd  ! "" 

I  said  above  that  we  know  almost  nothing  of  Dante, 
and  yet  we  all  have  so  much  to  tell  of  him  personally. 
We  may  even  say :  "  There  is  perhaps  no  great  poet  of 
whom  we  know  less  and  perhaps  none  whom  we  know 


THE  WORK  OF  DANTE  183 

better.  .  .  ."      Emerson  said  so  of  Shakespeare,  but  how 
much  truer  is  it  of  Dante  ! 

For  what  is  it  that  we  seek  to  know  when  we  study 
the  history  of  a  man's  life,  or  inquire  in  what  town  he 
lived,  where  he  got  his  learning,  what  society  he  kept, 
whether  he  was  loved  by  women  and  by  what  women, 
and  whom  he  married,  and  how  he  acted  in  the  different 
situations  of  his  life,  how  it  came  to  pass  that  he  wrote 
such  works  ?  Why  do  we  hunt  for  his  letters ;  why  com- 
pare his  portraits  and  books  ?  Can  these  poor  facts 
really  be  so  interesting  to  us  ?  Is  it  only  a  pedant 
schoolmaster's  love  for  dates  and  names  ? 

Or  is  it  the  real  man  whom  we  seek  ?  I  believe  we 
want  to  know  what  kind  of  man  was  he  who  stood  behind 
all  this,  and  whom  we  want  to  know  as  well  in  his  deeds 
as  in  his  writings.  This  man  has  moved  us  by  his  book. 
Who  was  he  that  wrote  such  a  book,  and  what  kind  of 
man  was  he  ?  What  was  his  life  ?  What  provoked  him  to 
such  utterance  ?     That  is  the  source  of  all  biography. 

But  the  most  vehement  emotions  a  man  can  feel,  that 
which  stirs  him  deepest/the  true  poet  will  utter  in  his  works. 
No  writer  may  hope  to  seize  a  sensible  and  thoughtful 
reader  strongly  except  by  giving  expression  to  that  which 
he  has  felt  in  his  own  life,  and  everybody  will  paint 
the  world  as  he  himself  has  seen  it ;  for  this  reason  we 
find  in  the  books  of  a  true  poet  the  utterances  of  his 
deepest  feelings ;  for  this  reason  we  see  from  his  books 
how  he  saw  the  world ;  for  this  reason  the  very  soul  of  a 
man  is  manifested  in  his  poetical  works,  whether  he  wishes 
it  or  not.  Of  course.it  is  manifested  only  to  him  who  is 
able  to  read,  and  very  few  people  know  how  to  read  a  poet. 
Yet  there  are  great  differences  in  these  manifestations. 
One  poet  will  express  himself  in  a  less  intimate  manner 


184  DANTE   AND   HIS  TIME 

than  another.  Take  Shakespeare,  for  instance.  What 
does  Shakespeare  the  poet  tell  of  Shakespeare  the  man  ? 
Of  course  we  look  into  a  giant-brain,  an  immense  fancy, 
which  reflected  the  whole  world,  a  mind  which  followed 
men  and  women  into  the  most  secret  folds  and  corners  of 
their  souls ;  we  must  conclude  that  this  man  had  drunk 
love  and  hate  to  the  dregs,  that  he  had  seen  all  the  light 
and  all  the  shadows  in  nature,  for  he  has  written  the 
"  Midsummer-Night's  Dream  "  and  "  King  Lear,"  he  knew 
the  most  tender  beings  and  the  most  brutal,  for  he  created 
Perdita  as  well  as  Caliban  and  Falstaff  with  his  society  of 
revellers;  we  know  this  man  must  have  felt  the  whole 
depth  of  human  misery  and  the  deepest  indignation  at  the 
depravity  of  men  ;  if  he  had  not,  he  could  not  have  written 
"  King  Lear"  and  "Timon  of  Athens."  Yet  all  this  we 
can  only  say  at  large,  in  general,  and  the  results  of  George 
Brandes'  new  book,  in  which  he  seeks  to  reconstruct  the 
psychological  history  of  Shakespeare  out  of  his  works, 
eem  very  questionable.  For  nowhere  in  all  his  plays 
does  Shakespeare  show  his  own  face  ;  he  is  always  behind 
the  scenes. 

Goethe  is  quite  different.  In  him  the  poet's  mask  is  much 
more  transparent.  The  periods  of  his  development  may 
be  sharply  traced ;  on  many  pages  in  "  Werther,"  "  Faust  " 
and  "  Wilhelm  Meister  "  the  veil  is  so  thin  that  it  seems 
torn,  it  is  only  Goethe  himself  who  speaks,  who  tells  what 
Goethe  felt,  what  Goethe  suffered,  what  Goethe  did  and 
what  Goethe  thought. 

Yet  we  have  so  many  letters  of  his,  so  many  notices 
of  his  works  and  of  his  writings  ;  his  contemporaries  have 
told  us  so  much,  that  we  almost  know  how  he  passed 
every  day  of  his  life  ;  so  we  can  no  longer  decide  whether 
we  know  what  we  do  know  from  such  direct  sources  or 


THE  WORK   OF   DANTE  185 

indirectly  from  his  works.  Still,  there  can  be  no  doubt 
that  his  poetry  is  more  personal  and  subjective  than 
Shakespeare's. 

Now  DajUe^sJ^de^j^^ 
Goethe  s.  He  is  the  hero  of  all  his  works,  not  a  creature 
o"rHbcrbrain  which  he  may  have  modelled  after  his  own 
likeness,  as  so  many  poets  have  done,  but  he  himself: 
Dante  Alighieri  of  St.  Peter's  Gate  in  Florence.  He  loved 
Beatrice.  He  was  in  Hell,  in  Purgatory,  and  in  Paradise. 
He  himself.  He  tells  us  so.  We  cannot  doubt  it.  The 
word  "  I "  may  be  encountered  on  every  page  of  his 
poems.  All  his  works  are  "■  Truth  and  Fiction  "  ("Dicht- 
ung  und  Wahrheit ")  out  of  his  life.  I)ante|s  whole*^ 
poetry  is  nothing  but  a  poetical  autobiography.  That  is^ 
the  feature  which  makes  them  so  vivid,  which  forces  us 
to  such  deep  participation  in  his  feelings.  He  is  a  poet 
of  an  unheard-of  spiritual  egoism,  he  expresses  his 
opinion  on  every  question,  on  every  personage,  on  every 
event.  For  his  own  time  he  must  have  been  modern  and 
actual  to  the  highest  degree.  For  does  he  not  mention 
himself  and  all  his  acquaintances  by  name  ?  His  readers 
could  hear  what  their  late  cousin  had  spoken  in  the  flames 
of  Hell,  or  what  occupied  their  sister  in  Paradise. 

And  for  this  reason  he  tells  us  so  much  more  of  his  time 
than  his  time  had  to  tell  of  him.  There  is  but  one  soul  in 
these  distant  days  whose  inmost  thoughts  are  laid  before 
us  and  may  be  glanced  over :  the  soul  of  Dante. 

And  it  is  for  this  reason  that  I  said  we  know  him  so  well. 
Of  course  we  do.  We  may  hear  him  speak  incessantly  and 
all  his  words  are  weighty.  But  here  again  one  must  be 
able  to  hear.  And  it  almost  makes  one  despair  to  see 
how  silly  clever  men  become  when  they  read  a  poet  like . 
Dante,  what  pedantic  methods  they  adopt,  what  quibblings 


1 86  DANTE  AND   HIS  TIME 

instead  of  silent  enjoyment  are  the  fruits  of  reading  Dante. 
Nearly  all  lack  the  power  of  synthesis,  which  is  necessary 
to  obtain  a  true  notion  of  the  whole  from  the  parts,  to 
understand  the  law  of  a  man's  being  out  of  a  few  facts 
and  allusions,  and  to  explain  the  facts  and  allusions  by 
the  law  of  his  being.  But  what  conclusions  are  formed 
instead  from  single  words,  from  insignificant  sentences ! 
What  combinations !  How  literal  and  superficial  are  the 
interpretations  of  scholars  who  even  make  pretence  of 
depth  ! 

Another  common  mistake  is,  that  all  writers  on  Dante 
occupy  themselves  with  his  opinions  instead  of  inquiring 
into  the  state  of  his  soul.  I  do  not  mean  this  word  in  a 
religious  sense,  but  I  mean  the  whole  interior  state,  the 
condition  and  qualities  of  the  man. 

Scholars  have  written  very  clever  and  erudite  treatises 
on  the  connection  of  Dante's  three  chief  works — on  his 
"  Geistesgang" — but  in  everyone  the  question  is  only  one 
of  Dante's  religious  and  philosophical  opinions ;  and  no- 
where, with  the  single  exception  of  that  slight  allusion  in 
Carlyle's  lecture  which  I  quoted  above,  is  a  word  said  or 

<a  thought  spent  on  the  deeper  question :  what  a  terrible 
revolution  must  have  taken  place  in  the  soul  of  a  man 
who  from  such  a  tender,  childlike  idyll  of  innocent  love 
as  the  "  New  Life  "  came  to  write  such  a  poem  of  indig- 
nation and  wrath  as  the  "Divine  Comedy." 

Most  men  even  say  that  the  time  when  Dante  wrote 
the  "  Divine  Comedy"  was  a  time  of  peace  and  of 
quietude  of  soul.  People  who  say  so  have  not  the 
slightest  notion  of  what  passes  in  a  poet's  soul.  For 
though  the  man  who  could  write  such  a  work  must  have 
been  firm  and  sure  of  his  mission,  yet  towards  the  world 
he  was  filled   with   trembling   rage  and  indignation  :  an 


THE   WORK   OF   DANTE  187 

unquenchable  ire  against  men  burned  within  the  same  man 
who  once,  to  designate  his  feeling  for  all  men,  had  found 
but  the  one  word  "  love."  Scartazzini  in  his  last  book 
calls  Dante  a  man  of  one  casting — "  a  nature  of  granite.'' 
Not  so.  He  only  became  so  gradually  and  in  his  later 
years ;  the  casting  had  once  been  soft  and  plastic,  which 
by  the  most  tragic  fate  became  so  hard  and  granite-like. 

There  is  but  one  work  which  may  be  compared  to  the 
"  Divine  Comedy  " — the  "  Faust  "  of  Goethe.  Not  only  are 
they  both  poems  of  humanity,  in  which  the  question  of  man 
and  his  destiny  is  treated,  in  which  we  are  led  "  From 
Heaven  through  the  World  to  Hell,"  or  the  reverse,  but 
the  essential  resemblance,  the  reason  why  I  mention 
"  Faust,"  and  not  the  "  Messiad,"  or  the  "  Paradise  Lost," 
is  again  the  personal  and  actual  element  in  both  poems. 
They  do  not  treat  of  Creation  and  the  Fall  of  Man  as 
Milton  does,  nor  of  Christ's  Passion  as  Klopstock ;  they  do 
not  chant  cosmic  poems  of  long-past  times,  but  Goethe 
and  Dante  remain  in  the  present — they  throw  open  the 
doors  into  the  mystic  regions  which  are  ever  around  us. 
Faust  is  a  modern  man,  the  ideal  type  of  a  modern  man, 
and  Mephistopheles  is  a  highly  modern  devil ;  and  modern 
life,  that  is  to  say  life  of  Goethe's  time,  fills  every  scene 
of  the  drama. 

The  same  may  be  said  of  Dante.  He  sings  no  chant 
of  terror,  of  a  distant  Hell  to  come,  no  hymn  on  Paradise, 
but  on  Maundy  Thursday  in  the  year  thirteen  hun- 
dred, when  he  himself  was  just  thirty-five  years  old, 
he  came  to  the  door  of  the  dead  and  through  a  whole  week 
about  Eastertime  he  wandered  through  the  realms  of  the 
dead  and  tells  us  with  absolute  distinctness  and  with 
trembling  agitation  what  he  saw  and  heard ;  we  may 
check  his  every  step  and  the  events  of  every  hour,  exact 


1 88  DANTE  AND   HIS  TIME 

plans  of  the  infernal  and  celestial  regions  have  been 
designed  from  his  words;  every  place  is  described  by 
the  most  minute  comparisons,  the  whole  poem  is  one  of 
terrific  reality.  No  wonder  that  the  women  of  Ravenna, 
when  he  walked  in  its  streets,  stepped  aside  in  fear  and 
pointed  to  him  saying :  "  That  is  the  man  who  was  down 
in  hell ! " 

The  second  feature,  which  makes  Dante  appear  the 
f  most  original  of  all  European  poets  up  to  his  time,  is 
/  related  to  the  first.  Visions  of  the  spiritual  realms  had 
been  written  before  his  days.  He  was  clearly  influenced 
by  Virgil's  "  Aeneid,"  and  the  descent  to  the  subterranean 
empire  in  that  poem  had  been  borrowed  from  Homer. 
There  were  plenty  of  Christian  visions  too.  But  the 
descents  to  hell  of  ancient  times  were  fables  and  myths, 
those  of  Christian  times  were  legends  composed  with  the 
object  of  terrifying  unbelievers — the  latter  almost  all  of 
as  little  poetic  worth  compared  with  Dante's  vision  as  the 
old  marionette-plays  of  "  Faust "  compared  with  the 
tragedy  of  Goethe. 

But  Dante  surpassed  his  predecessors  not  only  in 
artistic  qualities,  but  he  gave  something  thoroughly  new  : 
"  Where  I  am  sailing  none  has  tracked  the  sea."  J 

Dante  was  born  in  a  glorious  time,  in  which  two  kinds 
of  poetry  prevailed  :  the  chivalrous  epic  and  the  song  of 
the  Minnesingers.  He  himself  began  with  love-poems, 
resembling  those  of  the  Provencal  knights ;  mediaeval 
religious  poetry  had  influenced  him,  but  his  work,  if  there 
must  be  a  classification  at  all,  belongs  to  epic  poetry. 

And  if  we  compare  the  deepest  of  all  these  epics,  the 
"  Parcival,"  by  Wolfram  von  Eschenbach — out  of  which 
Wagner  created  his  musical  drama — if  we  compare  this 
with   Dante,   what   a   difference!      There   is   some   fine 


THE  WORK  OF  DANTE  189 

psychology  in  Wolfram,  some  mystic  and  religious  ideas 
are  touched  in  it,  but  it  is  only  a  touch  in  passing. 

Dante  left  all  known  paths  and  broke  through  the  wall. 
He  projected  our  own  life  to  the  right  and  to  the  left  into 
the  spiritual  world.     His  epic  is  different  from  all  others. 

He  tells  no  story  of  knighthood  and  love,  nor  the 
development  of  some  young  hero,  his  adventures,  his 
guilt,  and  his  final  happy  marriage  and  arrival  in  the 
realm  which  is  destined  for  him ;  no,  he  stood  with  firm 
foot  in  the  midst  of  the  real  world,  and  there  he  looked 
above  and  below,  he  saw  into  his  own  soul,  and  around 
him;  he  saw  what  passed  within  him  and  what  passed 
in  the  souls  of  other  men ;  he  saw  the  historical  catas- 
trophes of  his  time — the  downfall  of  the  mediaeval  Empire, 
the  triumph  and  downfall  of  the  Church  of  Rome, 
dynasties  extinct  and  town  republics  in  furious  revolu- 
tions, and  he  did  not  choose  to  tell  some  story  of 
events  happening  in  this  world,  and  passing  through  it 
like  a  thread  on  which  pearls  are  strung.  No;  this 
whole  immense  real  world  began  to  revolve  around  him 
and  to  arrange  itself  in  strange  mystic  circles ;  and  in 
these  circles  he  caught  the  whole  world  and  constructed 
it,  as  it  were,  anew :  the  world  which  had  been  but  a 
furious  vortex  of  contradictory  appearances,  of  madden- 
ing crime,  love,  hate,  destruction,  and  new  birth,  arose 
out  of  his  brain  as  that  cathedral  the  foundations  of 
which  are  laid  in  the  darkest  and  most  fearful  depths  of 
the  human  soul,  in  the  pool  of  all  sin  and  damnation — 
which  rises  in  endless  degrees,  scales  and  spires,  filled 
with  men  singing  to  the  highest  and  most  radiant  glory, 
to  the  most  godlike  trance  and  ecstasy  of  which  the 
human  soul  is  capable. 

He  changed  the  Visible  Church  into  the  Invisible,  which 


1 9o  DANTE  AND   HIS   TIME 

he  saw  and  made  visible.     The  subject  of  Dante's  poem 
is  the  whole  world. 

The  world  which  is  so  bewildering  and  incomprehen- 
sible to  the  poor  human  eye  became  clear  to  him  and 
arranged  itself  in  cosmic  order  :  "  Kosmos,"  "  order,"  or 
"  beauty,"  is  the  Greek  word  for  the  world. 

For  Dante  wanders  through  the  interior  of  the  earth, 
through  its  centre,  up  to  the  other  hemisphere — ever 
upwards  through  the  air,  through  the  crystalline  heavens 
up  to  the  Empyrean,  where  the  white  glowing  rose  of 
Paradise  unfolds  itself,  where  Deity  is  throned  and  the 
eternal  revolution  of  the  world  is  ruled  by  Love. 

It  arranged  itself  for  him  in  a  second  moral  order,  in 
three  times  nine  circles,  responding  to  all  human  qualities, 
all  the  glories  and  all  the  squalidness  of  the  human  soul  ; 
and  this  not  in  cold  and  philosophic  classifications,  but  the 
circles  are  filled  with  well-known  faces  of  men,  every  one 
of  whom  had  lived ;  their  wailing  and  their  joyful  singing 
resound  in  them  ;  we  find  the  whole  world  of  Dante's  day 
rearranged  in  those  wonderful  circles.  With  full  right  he 
could  call  it  "  my  sacred  song,  to  which  both  heaven  and 
earth  have  set  their  hand." 

But  that  is  not  all ;  there  soon  appears  a  still  deeper 
meaning  in  the  poem  ;  at  the  next  glance  all  this  mighty 
world  disappears — the  macrocosm  becomes  a  microcosm ; 
we  discover  that  we  are  no  longer  in  the  world,  we  are 
in  a  soul ;  there  is  stillness  and  sighing  at  the  outset ; 
for  belief  the  light  from  above  is  wanting.  Raging 
storms  come  next :  these  are  the  passions  of  the  senses, 
hurrying  the  soul  in  every  direction ;  repulsive  mire,  filth, 
and  moisture  follow,  where  gluttony  and  intemperance  have 
made  the  soul  obtuse  and  dark :  seething  blood  boils 
around  murderers   and   tyrants,  and  so  forth,  until  the 


THE  WORK   OF   DANTE  191 

final  obduracy  keeps  the  soul  stiff  and  frozen  in  the 
deepest  and  coldest  abyssus  of  hell.  Brighter  are  the 
stations  of  penitence.  The  sluggard  must  run,  the  eyes 
of  the  envious  are  closed  by  a  thread ;  the  gluttonous 
fast  and  famish;  the  over-hasty  lie  in  immovable  quiet; 
this  is  the  penitent  soul  which  denies  itself  all  that  had 
once  led  it  into  temptation. 

The  same  symbolism  repeats  itself  throughout  the  in- 
creasing joys  of  Paradise.  We  perceive  that  this  immense 
moving  world  is  a  figure,  and  that  every  circle  does  but 
symbolise  a  torment,  a  penance,  or  a  joy  of  the  soul. 
The  whole  mystic  wandering  is  but  the  path  of  the  soul 
through  temptation,  penitence,  and  purgatory  to  peace, 
eternal  blessedness,  knowledge  and  unity  with  God. 

It  has  the  same  meaning  as  that  of  Bunyan's  "  Pilgrim's 
Progress,"  but  is  expressed  by  a  far  mightier  artist  and 
poet.  x 

And  again  a  veil  drops  from  our  eyes ;  it  is  not  only 
the  poor  Florentine  Dante  Alighieri  who  walks  here, 
who  saw  all  this  and  found  peace — it  is  the  Christian,  it 
is  Man,  who  walks  the  mystic  path  of  the  Fall  and  of 
Salvation.  That  is  the  reason  why  the  week  of  Easter 
was  chosen  for  the  pilgrimage. 

This  is  the  world  with  all  its  circles  and  at  the  same 
time  a  soul,  and  all  that  a  soul  passes  through  in  life ; 
all  struggles,  all  the  tortures  of  penitence,  all  the  joy 
of  enlightenment,  it  is  macrocosm  and  microcosm  in  one 
picture. 

Not  that  the  interpreters  found  all  this— they  some- 
times do  find  more  in  a  poem  than  the  author  ever  thought 
of;  but  in  the  "Divine  Comedy"  all  this  not  only  follows 
clearly  out  of  the  whole  arrangement  and  contents  of  the 
poem,  but  Dante  himself  repeatedly  directs  our  attention  to 


1 92  DANTE  AND   HIS  TIME 

the  fourfold  meaning  of  his  work.  And  not  until  the  im- 
mensity of  the  attempt  and  the  performance  has  dawned 
on  us  do  we  know  how  to  read  the  "  Divine  Comedy"  and 
only  then  shall  we  understand  why  this  poem  occupies  so 
high  a  place  throughout  the  world. 

Let  us  again  take  up  the  comparison  with  "  Faust." 
Both  are  the  poems  of  humanity,  both  tell  what  man  is 
meant  for,  what  is  the  aim  of  his  earthly  life — Dante  in 
the  mediaeval  and  Christian  sense,  Goethe  in  the  modern 
sense.  The  whole  change  of  the  world  effected  by  six 
centuries,  by  the  Renaissance,  Reformation,  Science,  and 
the  return  of  Antique  Culture  is  represented  in  these 
wo  works. 

Both  treat  the  problem  of  the  aspiring  soul.  As  the 
pilgrim,  Dante,  in  the  course  of  the  "  Divine  Comedy," 
becomes  abstract  Man,  so  the  same  meaning  is  obviously 
expressed  in  the  following  verses  of  "  Faust " : 

Das  was  der  ganzen  Menschheit  zugetheilt  is, 
Will  ich  in  meinen  inneren  Selbst  geniessen, 
Mit  meinem  Geist  das  Hochst'  und  Tiefste  greifen, 
Ihr  Wohl  und  Weh  auf  meinen  Busen  haufen, 
Und  so  mein  eigen  Selbst  zu  ihren  Selbst  erweitern ! 

The  difference  is  that  Dante  solved  the  problem  as  a 
Christian  by  penitence  and  belief,  while  the  modern  Faust 
says,  "Wer  immer  strebend  sich  bemuht,  den  konnenwir 
erlosen."  ("  Whosoever  unceasingly  strives  upwards  .  .  . 
him  we  can  save.")  More  self-reliant,  proud  and  free  is  the 
conception  of  the  modern  poet,  his  God  far  milder  and 
more  loving  than  the  hard  and  ruthless  God  of  mediaeval 
^Christians.  He  demands  no  more  than  a  pure  and  active 
rill,  soaring  to  high  aims  and  free  from  all  egoism. 
Both  poems  have  still  another  no  less  grand  quality  in 


THE   WORK   OF  DANTE  193 

common ;  in  both  the  realms  of  the  soul,  the  depths  and 
the  dreams  which  are  in  every  man's  soul  are  projected 
into  reality.  Religion  has  made  at  all  times,  out  of  the 
evil  and  the  pure  regions  in  our  own  soul,  heaven  and 
hell,  gods  and  devils,  and  transplanted  them  into  space. 

Many  men  may  deny  that  heaven  and  hell  exist  in 
space,  but  no  one  can  deny  that  they  exist  within  him 
personally,  with  their  torments  and  joys,  and  both  have 
been  expressed  and  painted  in  this  poem,  hard  as  crystal, 
palpable  and  vivid,  as  nowhere  else. 

Dante  has  solved  the  immense  problem  by  uniting  both, 
by  leading  us  through  hell  and  heaven  as  divisions  of 
space,  and  still  never  permitting  us  to  forget  that  we  are 
in  a  man's  soul ;  by  uniting  macrocosm  and  microcosm  as 
they  are  united  in  reality. 

But  all  this  seems  still  more  grand,  strange  and  imposing 
when  we  trace  Dante's  life,  and  see  how  curiously  his  path 
led  him  to  his  works,  and  through  his  works  to  the  last 
and  greatest  of  them,  how  the  first  conception  of  the 
"  Sacred  Song  "  dawned  in  early  youth,  and  filled  his  soul 
ever  more  and  more ;  how  his  very  life  led  him  by  every 
step  surely  and  strongly  nearer  and  nearer  to  the  great 
vision,  how  the  earthly  love  for  a  beautiful  woman  who 
died  early,  was  purified  to  celestial  love,  and  led  him,  as 
by  a  golden  thread,  through  the  labyrinth  of  life ;  here 
again  the  individual  love  was  united  with  the  divine,  "  the 
love  that  rules  the  world." 

His  soul  lies  before  us  transparent  as  crystal,  unfolded 
like  a  rose ;  we  can  see  the  first  small  root,  the  little 
growing  buds  ;  we  see  the  first  ray  that  awakes  the  bud, 
the  first  presentiment  of  coming  storms,  which  will  tear 
the  rose  and  bear  its  odour  and  its  leaves  through  all  lands 
and  times.     We  hear  in  the  poem  of  his  first  youth  that 


i94  DANTE  AND  HIS  TIME 

There  one  lives  waking,  whom  great  loss  shall  try 
And  who  shall  tell  the  damned  in  hell's  unrest : 
I  have  beheld  the  hope  of  all  the  blest. 

And  he  ends  his  first  work  when  he  is  still  almost  a 
boy  in  Florence,  hardly  ripened  to  manhood,  with  words 
of  a  strange  and  wonderful  vision  and  the  resolution  to 
work  steadfastly,  until  he  shall  have  told  of  Beatrice  what 
has  never  been  told  of  any  woman  on  earth. 

We  can  trace  how  in  the  first  period  of  his  life  all  these 
great  dreams  dawn  on  him,  how  in  the  second  he  tries  in 
vain  to  enter  life,  to  do  as  others  do,  to  be  active  and  work 
like  ordinary  men,  how  he  is  thrown  back  and  repulsed, 
understood  by  nobody  and  left  alone  with  his  dreams  and 
the  world  within  him,  until  after  unheard-of  toils  he 
expresses  all  this  in  that  ever-sacred  song  which  will 
appear  holy  to  men  of  all  times  and  races  and  eras  ;  and 
his  task  thus  being  accomplished  dies. 


CHAPTER    II 

DANTE'S    YOUTH 

In  the  small  grey  Gothic  Florence,  with  its  dark  and 
crooked  streets,  small  squares,  the  fortified  castles  of 
noblemen,  its  many  towers,  with  its  churches  and  ringing 
bells,  its  joyous  feasts  and  wild  riots,  Dante  was  born. 

There  was  no  campanile  in  Florence  at  that  time,  no 
Ufifizi,  no  Renaissance  palaces ;  the  construction  of  the 
Palazzo  Vecchio  and  of  the  cathedral  had  scarcely  been 
begun ;  serious,  quick-tempered  men  in  strange  garbs,  in 
red  and  green,  brown  and  white  gowns  with  capes  and 
hoods,  walked  the  streets  ;  there  in  the  quarter  called  after 
St.  Peter's  Gate,  near  the  Piazza  San  Martino,  stood  the 
houses  of  the  Alighieri.*  There  Dante,  or  with  his  full 
name,  Durante  Alighieri,  was  born  between  May  1 8, 
and  June^jj7,  1265.  The  dates  given  by  old  "writers 
are  contradictory.  Some  name  the  year  1266.  But 
from  Dante's  saying,  in  the  first  verse  of  the  "  Divine 
Comedy,"  that  when  he  undertook  his  descent  to  hell  he 
stood  in  the  middle  of  the  path  of  life,  which,  according  to 

*  The  house  which  bears  the  official  tablet  is  certainly  not  the  house 
in  which  Dante  was  born.  This  has  been  proved  by  Witte.  But  he, 
too,  seems  mistaken  in  designating  the  house  in  the  Via  Santa  Mar- 
gherita  as  the  true  one.  According  to  a  communication,  for  which  I 
am  indebted  to  Dr.  Davidsohn,  the  houses  of  the  Alighieri  no  longer 
exist. 


196  DANTE   AND   HIS   TIME 

the  Bible,  lasts  seventy  years,  and  the  day  of  his  descent 
being  Good  Friday  1 300,  then  from  a  similar  remark  in 
the  "  Banquet "  and  various  other  circumstances,  it  follows 
that  1 265  was  the  year  of  his  birth. 

That  the  day  fell  between  May  18  and  June  17 
|is  evident  from  his  statement  that  he  was  born  in 
the  sign  of  the  Twins ;  for  in  that  year  the  sun  stood  in 
the  sign  of  the  Twins  during  the  term  aforesaid.  Witte 
may  perhaps  be  right  in  concluding,  from  Dante's  special 
veneration  for  St.  Lucia,  and  from  the  important  influence 
on  his  life  which  he  ascribed  to  that  saint,  that  he  was 
born  on  the  day  dedicated  to  her,  May  30.  The 
family  certainly  was  a  noble  and  ancient  one,  though  it 
did  not  belong  to  the  "Grandi."  It  is  not  likely  that 
Boccaccio  and  the  younger  Villani,  who  expressly  says  so, 
should  be  mistaken  in  that.  It  has  become  a  matter  of 
controversy  whether  Dante  was  of  noble  descent  or  not. 
In  the  catalogue  of  the  noble  houses  contained  in  the 
works  of  Giovanni  Villani  and  Machiavelli  the  name  of  the 
Alighieri  is  not  to  be  found.  But  Alighieri  was  not  then 
a  family  name — it  was  the  time  when  family  names  were 
first  introduced,  but  were  still  unusual  except  those  derived 
from  castles  and  feudal  estates — Alighiero  was  but  the 
name  of  Dante's  father  and  of  his  great-grandfather. 
Perhaps  they  belonged  to  another  of  the  great  Florentine 
families.  In  the  "  Divine  Comedy,"  Dante  himself  speaks 
of  the  nobility  of  his  blood.  His  ancestor,  Cacciaguida, 
had  been  knighted  by  Emperor  Conrad  III.  He  had 
accompanied  the  emperor  on  his  crusade  and  perished  in 
the  Holy  Land.  Besides,  the  rapidity  of  Dante's  political 
career,  the  circumstance  that  he  could  marry  a  lady  from 
the  first  house  of  the  town,  that  of  the  Donati,  moreover 
that  the  young  King  of  Naples  was  one  of  his  personal 


DANTE'S  YOUTH  197 

friends — all  these  facts  seem  to  prove  his  noble  birth. 
Later  on  he  became  a  common  citizen  in  order  to  be 
eligible  for  public  office,  after  the  nobility  had  been 
excluded.  It  is  worth  mentioning  that  Alighieri  is  a 
German  name,  and  most  probably  derived  from  "  Aldiger," 
which  has  about  the  same  significance  as  the  word 
"  Shakespeare,"  meaning  "  the  ruler  of  the  spear." 

The  family  belonged  to  the  Guelf  nobility ;  they  owned 
houses  and  estates,  but  seem  to  have  been  deficient  in 
ready  money — at  least  the  poet  himself  undoubtedly  was. 
In  the  year  1260,  as  Dante  concedes  to  Farinata  in  the 
town  of  fire,  they  were  banished  with  the  other  Guelf 
nobles,  yet  his  father,  Alighiero,  seems  not  to  have  been 
among  the  exiled  members  of  the  family.  Dante's  mother 
was  called  Bella,  her  family  name  is  unknown ;  she  died 
early,  perhaps  at  his  birth.  His  father  married  a  second 
time  Lapa  de'  Cialuffi,  by  whom  he  had  two  children,  a 
son  Francesco,  who  outlived  the  poet  by  twenty  years,  and 
'a  daughter  of  unknown  name,  who  married  a  certain 
Leone  Poggi.  Both  names,  Cialuffi  as  well  as  Poggi,  are 
plebeian.  His  father,  too,  died  early.  In  the  year  1283 
he  is  spoken  of  as  a  man  dead  some  years.  He  seems  to 
have  been  a  man  of  no  importance.  In  a  sonnet  addressed 
to  Dante  by  his  future  wife's  kinsman,  and  his  own  friend, 
Forese  Donati,  Alighiero  is  alluded  to  with  undisguised 
contempt.  The  poem,  however,  is  of  a  jocose  nature,  and 
Dante  himself  is  also  reviled  in  it. 

It  is  a  strange  and  well-known  fact  that  Dante,  who 
wrote  in  such  a  personal  style  and  seldom  concealed  a 
name,  never  mentioned,  or  even  so  much  as  alluded  to, 
any  member  of  his  family  in  all  his  verse,  neither  father 
nor  mother,  brother  nor  sister,  wife  nor  children.  The 
only  exception,  if  it  can  be  called  one,  would  be  the  verse 


198  DANTE   AND   HIS  TIME 

in  the  eighth  canto  of  Hell,  where  Virgil,  passing  the 
infernal  pool  with  Dante  in  the  bark  of  Phlegyas,  embraces 
him  and  says,  "  Blessed  be  she  who  conceived  thee ! " 
We  may  ask  whether  he  had  causes  for  being  silent  con- 
cerning them,  for  he  mentions  his  friends,  his  love,  his 
wife's  relations,  his  ancestor.  Yet  we  know  nothing  at 
all  about  his  relations  to  his  family  except  that  his  brother 
occasionally  stood  surety  for  his  debts,  and  sometimes 
lent  money  to  him  himself. 

We  know  nothing  about  Dante's  youth,  for  what  is  told 
by  Boccaccio  is  only  invention  and  fine  talk.  We  may 
fancy  whatever  we  choose.  We  may  think  of  little  Dante 
as  of  a  fine  gifted  child,  precocious  in  all  his  sentiments, 
perhaps  a  lonely  child  craving  after  love,  who  grew  up  in 
those  small  streets  near  the  Piazza  San  Martino,  in  the 
neighbourhood  of  the  houses  of  the  mighty  families  of  the 
Donati  and  Portinari.  We  do  not  know  who  were  his 
teachers.  Though  on  one  occasion  he  calls  Brunetto 
Latini,  the  author  of  the  "  Tresor,"  his  master,  it  is  not 
possible  to  suppose  that  this  man,  who  had  been  Chan- 
cellor and  Prior  of  the  Republic,  and  who  died  in  1294, 
could  have  been  Dante's  tutor,  as  some  authors  have 
fancied  him  to  be.  It  is  possible,  however,  that  Dante 
had  heard  lectures  of  his,  or  had  profited  by  his  conver- 
sation, but  more  likely  he  referred  only  to  Latini's  works. 
From  his  first  work,  the  "  Vita  Nuova,"  we  may  gather 
that  at  the  time  he  wrote  it,  which  was  in  the  third  decade 
of  his  life,  he  read  and  wrote  Latin,  had  mastered  Pro- 
vencal and  French,  had  read  the  poets  of  these  languages, 
and  had  studied  Dialectics  and  Natural  Science.  It  is  not 
impossible  that  he  passed  some  time  at  a  university,  most 
probably  at  that  of  Padua  or  at  Bologna.  His  serious 
and  inquiring  soul  certainly  in  some  way  or  other  gained 


DANTE'S  YOUTH  199 

more  than  most  of  the  companions  of  his  youth  did.  But 
his  immense  knowledge,  his  all-comprehensive  reading, 
was,  as  he  himself  tells  us,  not  acquired  until  much  later. 

We  see  him,  grown  up,  in  the  society  of  young  Floren- 
tine noblemen,  one  of  whom,  the  poet  Guido  Cavalcanti, 
he  calls  "  the  first  of  his  friends."  Guido  was  the  son  of 
Messer  Cavalcante  de'  Cavalcanti,  of  one  of  the  first  Guelf 
families  of  the  town.  Sacchetti,  the  novelist,  calls  him  "  a 
man  who,  perhaps,  had  no  equal  in  Florence."  Boccaccio, 
who  in  the  u  Decamerone  "  tells  a  story  about  him,  says  : 
*  Guido  di  Messer  Cavalcante  de'  Cavalcanti  not  only  was 
one  of  the  best  logicians  that  the  world  held,  and  a  sur- 
passing natural  philosopher,  but  he  also  excelled  in 
beauty  and  courtesy,  and  was  of  great  gifts  as  a  speaker, 
and  everything  it  pleased  him  to  do,  and  what  best 
became  a  gentleman,  he  did  better  than  any  other." 
According  to  all  witnesses  he  was  brave  and  imperious, 
full  of  self-confident  pride,  reserved,  yet  of  a  passionate 
temper.  His  father,  Cavalcante,  was  a  notorious  sceptic 
and  materialist,  and  as  such  was  seen  by  Dante  in  the 
sixth  circle  of  hell,  lying  in  his  fiery  coffin ;  Guido,  too, 
passed  for  a  sceptic.  He  was  ten  years  older  than  Dante, 
and  in  the  latter's  youth  had  great  influence  on  him.  He 
seems  to  have  induced  Dante  to  write  the  "  Vita  Nuova  " 
not  in  Latin  but  in  the  popular,  that  is,  the  Italian,  lan- 
guage. Dante  mentions  some  other  friends,  but  we  do 
not  know  anything  about  them. 

He  must  have  been  shy,  diffident,  and  of  a  loving, 
thoughtful  and  passionate  nature ;  so  much  we  presume 
from  his  earliest  writings.  We  may  imagine  that  he  was 
such  from  that  fine  picture  ot  Gtotto's  with  its  rosy  and 
tender  skin,  the  soft  lips  and  eyes,  and  yet  such  firmness 
about  the  mouth,  such  strength  in  chin  and  nose.     We 


200  DANTE   AND   HIS   TIME 

must  imagine  him  in  the  gay  feasts  in  Florence,  of  which 
the  chroniclers  tell,  with  their  baldechins  and  tribunes 
hung  with  wreaths  of  flowers,  the  great  festival  on  St. 
John's  Day,  when  the  young  men,  clad  in  white,  led  by  the 
Signor  d'  Amore,  went  singing  and  dancing  up  the  street 
of  Santa  Felicita,  and  women  and  girls  also  in  wreaths  of 
flowers  partook  in  the  festivities,  and  music  and  songs  and 
ringing  bells  filled  the  air  with  joyful  sounds.  It  was 
still  the  time  of  fine  chivalrous  manners,  the  time  of  the 
troubadours  and  of  minstrelsy. 

A  sonnet  of  Dante's,  which  was  not  included  in  the 
11  Vita  Nuova,"  allows  us  to  glance,  as  it  were,  through  a 
window  into  a  sunny  room,  into  the  youthful  life  of 
Dante : 

Guido,  I  wish  that  Lapo,  thou,  and  I, 

Could  be  by  spells  conveyed,  as  it  were  now, 

Upon  a  barque,  with  all  the  winds  that  blow 

Along  all  seas  at  our  good  will  to  hie. 

So  no  mischance  or  temper  of  the  sky 

Should  mar  our  course  with  spite  or  cruel  slip ; 

But  we,  observing  old  companionship, 

To  be  companions  still  should  long  thereby. 

And  Lady  Joan,  and  Lady  Beatrice, 

And  her  the  thirtieth  on  my  roll,  with  us 

Should  our  good  wizard  set,  o'er  seas  to  move 

And  they  three  ever  to  be  well  at  ease, 

As  we  should  be,  I  think,  if  this  were  thus. 

(Rossetti.) 

Does  it  not  seem  as  if  the  half-happy,  half-longing  mood 
of  these  enthusiastic  youths,  revelling  in  the  dreams  of 
love  and  ardent  friendships,  were  all  expressed  in  this 
poem  ?  A  passage  in  the  "  Vita  Nuova  "  confirms  what 
we  gather  from  this  sonnet,  that  these  young  fellows  had 
numbered  sixty  of  the  ladies  and  maidens  of  the  city,  who 


DANTE'S  YOUTH  201 

to  them  seemed  fairest,  and  well  knew  the  number  by 
which  each  of  them  was  designated.  Friend  Lapo's 
sweetheart,  from  some  cause  or  other,  is  named  only  in 
this  u  jargon." 

Another  poem  of  Dante's  from  the  same  time  is  the 
following : 

Last  All  Saints'  holy-day,  even  now  gone  by, 

I  met  a  gathering  of  damozels ; 

She  that  came  first,  as  one  doth  who  excels, 

Had  Love  with  her,  bearing  her  company  ; 

A  flame  burned  forward  through  her  steadfast  eye, 

As  when  in  living  fire  a  spirit  dwells ; 

So,  gazing  with  the  boldness  which  prevails 

O'er  doubt,  I  knew  an  angel  visibly. 

As  she  passed  on,  she  bowed  her  mild  approof 

And  salutation  to  all  men  of  worth, 

Lifting  the  soul  to  solemn  thoughts  aloof. 

In  heaven  itself  that  lady  had  her  birth, 

I  think,  and  is  with  us  for  our  behoof : 

Blessed  are  they  who  meet  her  on  the  earth. 

(Rossetti.) 

We  know  a  few  of  Cavalcanti's  love  affairs,  and  we 
know  from  the  "  Vita  Nuova "  that  Dante  himself,  from 
his  ninth  year,  adored  a  girl  whom  he  had  seen  in  a 
blood-red  dress,  and  who  was  a  year  younger  than  he 
was,  with  a  boyish  shy  and  happy  love. 

But  most  certainly  his  time  was  not  only  devoted  to 
studies,  to  society  and  to  love,  but  to  the  exercise  of  arms 
also;  indeed,  in  the  year  1289,  Dante,  then  a  man 
of  twenty-four,  stood  in  the  ranks,  and  on  July  n  in 
the  same  year  took  part  in  the  battle  of  Campaldino, 
where  the  Florentine  Guelfs,  15,000  men  strong,  defeated 
the  Ghibellines  and  the  people  of  Arezzo.  It  was  this 
same  battle  which  Corso  Donati,  the  unruly  leader  of  the 


202  DANTE  AND   HIS  TIME 

Florentine  horse  (who  afterwards  became  his  relative  and 
his  enemy),  decided  by  an  act  of  insubordination,  and  first 
made  himself  a  name.  What  Dante  felt  in  this  battle  is 
described  by  himself  in  a  fragment  of  one  of  his  letters, 
quoted  by  Lionardo  Aretino,  in  which  he  says :  "  At 
this  time  I  was  in  arms,  no  longer  a  boy,  and  felt  much 
fear  and  afterwards  great  joy  because  of  the  changeful 
events  of  the  battle."  Some  verses  in  the  twenty-second 
canto  of  Hell  prove  that  Dante  served  in  the  Florentine 
camp  at  the  siege  of  the  castle  of  Caprona,  which  in 
August  of  the  same  year,  after  a  siege  of  eight  days,  sur- 
rendered to  the  Florentines  and  their  allies,  the  Lucchese, 
on  condition  that  the  garrison  be  permitted  to  retire. 
This  manysided  life,  embracing  studies  and  politics,  war 
and  pleasures  and  cultured  society,  altogether  reminds  us 
of  the  life  of  ancient  Greeks ;  and,  indeed,  the  Italian  cities 
have  more  than  one  feature  in  common  with  the  famous 
towns  of  antiquity,  and  a  culture  of  similar  splendour 
developed  within  their  walls. 

But  no  less  powerful  than  these  must  have  been  the 
impressions  of  the  great  historical  events  of  the  time.  Of 
the  immense  war  of  the  great  Emperor  against  the  Popes, 
the  glory  and  the  fall  of  King  Manfred  which  lay  behincj 
him,  he  certainly  must  have  heard  people  continually  tell 
in  his  childhood,  the  more  so  as  his  own  house  was  in- 
volved in  the  catastrophe.  He  was  three  years  old  when 
young  Conradin  was  defeated  in  the  battle  of  Tagliacozzo, 
and  beheaded  a  short  time  afterwards ;  and  forty  years 
later,  as  a  man  of  advanced  life,  he  saw  a  German  kmy 
with  Conradin's  bloody  head  in  its  banner  enter  ttaly 
under  the  Emperor  Henry  VII.  to  revenge  that  ..cruel 
deed.  ...  in  vain,  his  own  last  hopes  perishecf  'with 
the  Emperor's  death.     He  was  five  years  old  when  all  the 


DANTE'S  YOUTH 


203 


world  told  with  terror  how  the  famous  captain  Guido  of  v 
Montfort,  King  Charles'  governor  in  Tuscany,  had  killed 
young  Prince  Henry  of  England  in  the  Church  of  Viterbo. 
In  his  eighth  year  the  Pope's  interdict  lay  on  Florence. 
No  bell  was  permitted  to  be  rung,  no  mass  was  read,  no 
priest  gave  consolation  to  the  dying — a  great  event  for 
the  boy  as  well  as  for  the  town.  He  saw  riots  and  dis- 
cords enough  in  Florence  itself,  he  listened  to  the  great 
traditions  of  the  city  and  its  parties ;  he  was  a  boy  of 
thirteen  when  the  banished  Ghibellines  returned,  fifteen 
when  the  Sicilian  Vespers  took  place.  In  the  year  1285 
Florence  demolished  its  old  walls  and  built  new  ones,  a 
sign  of  its  rising  power;  and  in  1289,  the  year  of  his 
military  service,  Count  Ugolino  della  Gherardesca,  with 
his  five  sons,  died  of  hunger  in  the  tower  of  Pisa,  and  on 
the  opposite  Adriatic  shore,  Francesca  da  Rimini  and  her 
lover  fell  by  her  husband's  sword.  In  the  year  1290  a 
terrible  fire  devastated  the  town  ;  that  same  year  marked 
a  great  epoch  in  Dante's  life,  for  in  it  the  woman  whom 
he  loved  died. 


CHAPTER    III 

BEATRICE 

About  two  years  later  Dante  told  the  story  of  his  love  in 
a  strange  little  book,  in  which,  to  a  number  of  poems 
composed  in  the  course  of  the  preceding  ten  years,  he 
added  a  commentary  in  prose,  to  explain  their  meaning 
and  origin.  To  this  book  he  gave  a  very  remarkable 
title,  calling  it  the  "  New  Life."  It  is  related  in  what 
one  should  call  a  "  holiday  style,"  simply  and  touchingly, 
with  finest  psychologic  details,  so  true  and  perfect,  that 
perhaps  no  one  will  ever  be  able  fully  to  understand  it 
who  has  not  experienced  similar  feelings  in  early  youth. 
It  is  the  loveliest  book  created  in  the  Middle  Ages;  all 
softness  and  tenderness,  quiet  longing,  devout  love ;  such 
a  tenderness  as  is  inaccessible  to  most  people  of  a  coarser 
nature.  Nowhere  do  we  find  a  trace  of  the  future  energy, 
the  sharp  lines  that  seem  wrought  in  steel,  the  future 
riches  of  imagination  and  thought.  A  sea  of  events  and 
strange  destinies  had  to  roll  by  him  before  the  author  of 
the  "  New  Life  "  could  become  the  poet  of  the  u  Divine 
Comedy."  Of  the  poems  contained  in  the  book,  the  first, 
as  Dante  himself  informs  us,  was  composed  in  his 
eighteenth  year,  that  is,  in  1283.  According  to  the  custom 
of  the  time,  he  sent  it  to  several  poets,  who  answered  it. 
Some  of  these  answers  are  extant.     Among  them  is  a 


BEATRICE  205 

sonnet  by  Guido  Cavalcanti,  which,  as  Dante  tells  us,  was 
the  true  beginning  of  their  friendship.  Though  we  are  in 
a  position  to  state  that  many  events  told  of  in  the  book 
took  place  in  reality,  still  we  cannot  venture  to  say  that 
it  is  simply  an  "  ingenious  diary  of  Dante's  love."  Dante 
was  a  most  mysterious  person,  and  all  that  he  tells  about 
himself  is  mystical  and  full  of  secrecy.  His  soul  always 
walks,  as  it  were,  on  unearthly  paths  beside  his  body.  He 
was  a  man  whose  inward  life  was  richer  and  more  intense 
than  that  of  other  men,  who  very  soon  lifted  himselt 
from  the  platform  of  ordinary  life  to  a  higher  sphere, 
carrying  up  with  him  whatever  he  touched  ;  in  his  writ- 
ings he  gave  the  most  detailed  descriptions,  not  of  his 
outward  destinies,  but  of  this  higher  life  of  his  soul ;  an 
autobiography  of  his  inward  development,  not  of  his  per- 
sonal history  on  earth  ;  and  just  because  he  chose  to  throw 
so  much  light  on  what  passed  within  him,  and  so  little 
on  his  destinies  in  this  world,  we  must  renounce  all  hope 
of  ever  attaining  a  full  knowledge  of  the  latter.  The  same 
must  be  said  of  the  woman  whom  he  loved  and  made 
famous  as  none  was  made  before  her.  Nay,  Beatrice  is 
the  most  enigmatic  creature  of  all  literature.  Among  the 
many  women  made  immortal  by  the  poets  who  loved 
them,  she  was  exalted  to  such  a  height  that  the  dazzling 
light  which  the  poet  shed  around  her  hides  her  from  our 
glances.  All  his  poetry  was  for  her  ;  his  love  for  her  was 
the  golden  thread,  which  now  for  a  time  deserted,  again 
firmly  grasped,  seems  drawn  across  the  labyrinth  of  his 
life.  She,  one  may  say,  is  the  heroine  of  the  "  New  Life  " 
as  well  as  of  the  "  Divine  Comedy."  In  the  first  he  tells, — 
and  because  he  tells  it,  and  because  in  the  "  Divine 
Comedy "  the  same  story  recurs,  we  are  forced  to 
consider  it   the  most  important  event   of   his  life,  more 


2o6  DANTE  AND   HIS  TIME 

important  than  the  revolution  in  Florence  and  all  others,  for 
a  man  like  Dante  must  be  allowed  himself  to  declare  which 
event  has  been  of  highest  and  most  decisive  importance 
for  him,— in  the  "  New  Life  "  he  tells,  I  say,  how,  when  still 
a  boy  of  nine  years,  he  suddenly  fell  in  love  with  the  little 
girl  of  eight,  whom  he  saw  for  the  first  time  in  a  crimson 
dress,  and  how  "  at  that  moment  the  spirit  of  life,  which 
hath  its  dwelling  in  the  secretest  chamber  of  the  heart, 
began  to  tremble  so  violently  that  the  least  pulses  of  his 
body  shook  therewith." 
V  I  Vie  W&ea  that  he  saw  her  many  times,  until  one  day, 
after  the  lapse  Vf  Vine  years,  when  she  was  near  eighteen, 
he  saw  her  "  dressed  all  in  pure  white,  between  two  gentle 
ladies  older  than  she,"  and  how,  "  passing  through  a  street 
she  turned  her  eyes  thither  where  he  stood  sorely  abashed 
and  by  her  unspeakable  courtesy  saluted  him  with  so 
virtuous  a  bearing  that  he  seemed  then  and  there  to  see 
the  limits  of  all  blessedness,"  and  how  after  this  he  had 
that  marvellous  vision  in  which  he  saw  her  constrained  by 
love  to  eat  his  flaming  heart,  that  vision  which  he  described 
in  his  first  poem.  (  He  tells  us  how  that  love  completely 
subdued  and  overcame  him,  what  bliss  and  what  sorrow  it 
caused  him,  what  he  did  to  conceal  it,  and  what  conse- 
quences followed  therefrom.  He  tells  us  that  he  became 
so  weak  and  so  reduced  that,  when  people  asked  him  what 
was  the  matter  with  him,  he  could  not  but  tell  them 
11  Love,"  "  because  the  thing  was  so  plainly  to  be  discerned 
in  his  countenance  that  there  was  no  longer  any  means 
to  conceal  it."  But  when  they  went  on  to  ask,  "  '  And  for 
whose  sake  has  Love  done  this  ? '  I  looked  in  their  faces 
smiling,  and  spake  no  word  in  return." 

Then  he  proceeds  to  tell  of  new  visions,  in  which  Love 
appeared  to  him,  and  how,  whenever  he  met  her,  Love 


BEATRICE  207 

overpowered  him  in  such  a  degree  "  that  his  body  being 
all  subjected  thereto  remained  many  times  helpless  and 
passive."  What  her  salutation  was  to  him  is  described  in 
a  particular  chapter  :  "  I  say  that  when  she  appeared  in 
any  place,  and  I  was  allowed  to  hope  for  her  wonderful 
salutation,  there  was  no  man  mine  enemy  any  longer,  and 
such  a  flame  of  charity  came  upon  me  that  most  certainly 
in  that  moment  I  would  have  pardoned  whosoever  had 
done  me  an  injury ;  and  if  one  should  then  have  ques- 
tioned me  concerning  any  matter  I  could  only  have  said 
unto  him  '  Love,'  with  a  countenance  clothed  in  humility. 
And  what  time  she  made  ready  to  salute  me,  the  spirit  of 
Love,  destroying  all  other  perceptions,  thrust  forth  the 
feeble  spirits  of  my  eye,  saying  :  '  Do  homage  unto  your 
mistress,'  and  putting  itself  in  their  place  to  obey,  so  that 
he  who  would  might  then  have  beheld  Love,  beholding 
the  lids  of  my  eyes  shake."  He  tells  that  once,  when  he 
met  her  unawares  at  a  wedding,  he  trembled  so  that  he 
was  forced  to  lean  his  back  against  the  wall.  A  while 
after  this  certain  ladies  asked  him,  "  To  what  end  lovest 
thou  this  lady,  seeing  that  thou  canst  not  support  her  pre- 
sence ?  Now  tell  us  this  thing  that  we  may  know  it,  for 
certainly  the  end  of  such  a  love  must  be  new  and  worthy 
of  knowledge."  Thereupon  he  composed  that  celebrated 
canzone,  "  Ladies  that  have  Intelligence  in  Love,"  which  at 
once  placed  him  among  the  first  poets  who  sang  of  love : 

Ladies  that  have  intelligence  in  love, 
Of  mine  own  lady  I  would  speak  with  you  ; 
Not  that  I  hope  to  count  her  praises  through, 
But  telling  what  I  may,  to  ease  my  mind. 
And  I  declare  that  when  I  speak  thereof, 
Love  sheds  such  perfect  sweetness  over  me 
That  if  my  courage  failed  not,  certainly 


208  DANTE   AND   HIS  TIME 

To  him  my  listeners  must  all  be  resigned, 

Wherefore  I  will  not  speak  in  such  large  kind 

That  mine  own  speech  should  foil  me,  which  were  base 

But  only  will  discourse  of  her  high  grace 

In  these  poor  words,  the  best  that  I  can  find, 

With  you  alone,  dear  dames  and  damozels : 

'Twere  ill  to  speak  thereof  with  any  else. 

An  angel,  of  his  blessed  knowledge,  saith 

To  God :  "  Lord,  in  the  world  that  Thou  hast  made 

A  miracle  in  action  is  display'd 

By  reason  of  a  soul  whose  splendours  fare 

Even  hither  :  and  since  Heaven  requireth 

Nought  saving  her,  for  her  it  prayeth  Thee, 

Thy  Saints  crying  aloud  continually." 

Yet  Pity  still  defends  our  earthly  share 

In  that  sweet  soul ;  God  answering  thus  the  prayer. 

"  My  well-beloved,  suffer  that  in  peace 

Your  hope  remain,  while  so  My  pleasure  is, 

There  where  one  dwells  who  dreads  the  loss  of  her : 

And  who  in  Hell  unto  the  doomed  shall  say : 

1 1  have  looked  on  that  for  which  God's  chosen  pray.'  " 

My  lady  is  desired  in  the  high  Heaven  : 

Therefore,  it  now  behoveth  me  to  tell, 

Saying  :  Let  any  maid  that  would  be  well 

Esteemed  keep  with  her :  for  as  she  goes  by, 

Into  foul  hearts  a  deathly  chill  is  driven 

By  Love,  that  makes  ill  thought  to  perish  there  : 

While  any  who  endures  to  gaze  on  her 

Must  either  be  ennobled,  or  else  die, 

When  one  deserving  to  be  raised  so  high 

Is  found,  'tis  then  her  power  attains  its  proof, 

Making  his  heart  strong  for  his  soul's  behoof 

With  the  full  strength  of  meek  humility. 

Also  this  virtue  owns  she,  by  God's  will : 

Who  speaks  with  her  can  never  come  to  ill. 

Love  saith  concerning  her:  "  How  chanceth  it 


BEATRICE  209 

That  flesh,  which  is  of  dust,  should  be  thus  pure  ?  " 
There,  gazing  always,  he  makes  oath  :  "  For  sure, 
This  is  a  creature  of  God  till  now  unknown." 
She  hath  that  paleness  of  the  pearl  that's  fit 
In  a  fair  woman,  so  much  and  not  more ; 
She  is  as  high  as  nature's  skill  can  soar ; 
Beauty  is  tried  by  her  comparison- 
Whatever  her  sweet  eyes  are  turned  upon, 
Spirits  of  love  do  issue  thence  in  flame, 
Which  through  their  eyes  who  then  may  look  on  them 
Pierce  to  the  heart's  deep  chamber  every  one. 
And  in  her  smile  Love's  image  you  may  see  ; 
Whence  none  can  gaze  upon  her  steadfastly. 

Dear  Song,  I  know  thou  wilt  hold  gentle  speech 

With  many  ladies,  when  I  send  thee  forth : 

Wherefore  (being  mindful  that  thou  hadst  thy  birth 

From  Love,  and  art  a  modest,  simple  child), 

Whomso  thou  meetest,  say  thou  this  to  each : 

"  Give  me  good  speed  !     To  her  I  wend  along 

In  whose  much  strength  my  weakness  is  made  strong." 

And  if,  i'  the  end,  thou  wouldst  not  be  beguiled 

Of  all  thy  labour,  seek  not  the  defile 

And  common  sort ;  but  rather  choose  to  be 

Where  man  and  woman  dwell  in  courtesy. 

So  to  the  road  thou  shalt  be  reconciled, 

And  find  the  lady,  and  with  the  lady,  Love. 

Commend  thou  me  to  each,  as  doth  behove. 

(Rossetti.) 

Dante  paid  himself  a  fine  compliment  by  relating  in  the 
twenty-fourth  canto  of  Purgatory  a  conversation  which 
he  had  in  the  other  world  with  the  soul  of  the  Lucchese 
poet  Buonagiunta  Orbicciani,  who  thus  addressed  him  : 

O  tell  me,  do  I  now  see  him,  whose  mind 

Sang  new-framed  rhymes  in  Florence  which  began 
"  O  ye  who  know  what  love  is,  ladies  kind  !  " 

o 


210  DANTE  AND   HIS  TIME 

And  I  to  him :  "  Behold  in  me  a  man 

Who  when  love  breathes,  listens, — what  in  me 
Love  doth  dictate,  I  sing  it  as  I  can." 

"  Now,  brother,"  spake  he,  "  the  defect  I  see 

Which  me,  the  Notary  and  Guittone  barred 
From  that  style  new  and  sweet  that  honours  thee. 

Well  do  I  now  perceive  how  thy  wings  hard 

After  that  sweet  dictator  upwards  rose,    | 

Flight  which  to  us  the  fates  did  not  award. 

And  who  considers  will  see  how  remote 
Is  the  new  manner  from  the  other  style." 

The  following  two  sonnets  from  the  "  Vita  Nuova  "  are 
characteristic  specimens  of  the  Florentine  school : 

Sonnet  IX. 
Full  many  a  time  there  comes  into  my  thought 

The  melancholy  hue  which  Love  doth  give, 
And  such  woes  come  on  me  that  I  am  brought 

To  say,  "  Ah  me !  doth  one  so  burdened  live  ?  " 
For  Love  with  me  so  suddenly  hath  fought, 

That  'tis  as  though  life  all  my  frame  did  leave ; 
One  living  spirit  only  help  hath  wrought, 

And  that  remains  discourse  of  thee  to  weave. 
Then  I  arise,  resolve  myself  to  aid, 

And  pale  and  wan,  and  of  all  strength  bereft, 
I  come  to  see  thee,  thinking  health  to  find  : 
And  if  on  thee  my  longing  eyes  are  stayed, 
My  heart,  as  with  an  earthquake,  then  is  cleft, 
Which  makes  my  pulse  leave  all  its  life  behind. 

(Plumptre.) 
Sonnet  XIV. 
So  gentle  and  so  fair  she  seems  to  be, 
My  Lady,  when  she  others  doth  salute, 
That  every  tongue  becomes,  all  trembling,  mute, 
And  every  eye  is  half  afraid  to  see  ; 


BEATRICE  211 

She  goes  her  way  and  hears  men's  praises  free, 
Clothed  in  a  garb  of  kindness,  meek  and  low, 
And  seems  as  if  from  heaven  she  came,  to  show 
Upon  the  earth  a  wondrous  mystery. 
To  one  who  looks  on  her  she  seems  so  kind, 
That  through  the  eyes  a  sweetness  fills  the  heart, 
Which  only  he  can  know  who  doth  it  try, 
And  through  her  face  there  breatheth  from  her  mind 
A  spirit  sweet  and  full  of  Love's  true  art, 
Which  to  the  soul  saith,  as  it  cometh,  "  Sigh." 

(Plumptre.) 

He  proceeds  to  tell  of  her  father's  death  and  of  his  own 
illness,  when  in  feverish  dreams  he  saw  her  as  one  dead ; 
with  the  exception  of  but  few  outward  events  he  tells  the 
psychological  story  of  his  love — of  the  events  within  his 
soul.  It  is  the  inner  world  that  is  his  object,  and  in  the 
mirror  of  the  soul  strange  transformations  are  possible. 
The  image  of  the  beloved  woman  grows  to  such  a  height 
that  the  heavens  resound  with  her  praise,  that  God  Him- 
self speaks  of  her,  and  that  at  her  death  Dante  breaks  out 
in  the  words  of  Jeremiah  :  "  How  doth  the  city  sit  solitary, 
that  was  full  of  people !  How  is  she  become  as  a  widow, 
she  who  was  great  among  the  nations !  "  He  then  tells 
how  it  happened  that  after  her  death  he  had  almost  be- 
trayed her  and  loved  another  young  woman,  who  had 
looked  down  on  him,  sitting  in  sadness,  from  the  window 
opposite,  gazing  upon  him  with  a  face  full  of  deepest  pity. 
At  last,  however,  conquering  that  new  passion,  he  turned 
back  to  the  loving  memory  of  Beatrice,  and  then  speaks  of 
a  last  wondrous  vision,  concluding  with  the  following 
words : 

"  Wherefore  if  it  be  his  pleasure  through  whom  is  the 
life  of  all  things,  that  my  life  continue  with  me  for  a  few 
years,  it  is  my  hope  that  I  shall  yet  write  concerning  her 


2i2  DANTE   AND   HIS  TIME 

what  hath  not  before  been  written  of  any  woman.  After 
the  which  may  it  seem  good  unto  him,  who  is  the  Master 
of  Grace,  that  my  spirit  should  go  hence  to  behold  the 
glory  of  its  lady,  to  wit,  to  that  blessed  Beatrice  who  now 
gazeth  continually  on  His  countenance,  qui  est  per  omnia 
scecula  benedictus." 

One  thing  the  "  Vita  Nuova  "  and  the  "  Divina  Corn- 
media  "  have  in  common  :  the  terrible  intensity  of  all  sensa- 
tion. The  whole  book  is  the  expression  of  exalted  feel- 
ings. Not  that  the  precocity  of  love  strikes  us  as  so  very 
remarkable.  Lord  Byron  fell  vehemently  in  love  in  his 
sixth  year,  and  many  instances  of  a  similar  precocity 
could  be  quoted  from  life.  But  the  "  Vita  Nuova  "  be- 
trays an  inner  life  of  an  incredible  intensity.  This  love 
not  only  clutches  and  rules  Dante's  soul,  but  it  overflows 
the  soul's  limits,  and  breaking  all  personal  bonds  fills  the 
streets  with  light,  heightens  the  colour  of  the  sky  and 
gilds  the  churches  of  Florence.  It  pervades  the  world  in 
mystic  ways ;  the  rest  of  mankind  vanish  from  his  eyes 
and  lose  all  importance ;  he  is  alone  with  his  love.  They 
fill  the  world  to  the  brim,  and  "  beyond  the  sphere  that 
spreads  to  widest  space,"  even  God  and  His  angels  have 
to  speak  of  her. 

The  graceful  little  girl  whom,  on  that  memorable  Ascen- 
sion-day, he  saw  for  the  first  time  has  imperiously  mastered 
Dante's  soul,  has  given  a  new  shape  to  his  world  ;  and 
to-day,  while  the  real  resounding  world,  that  surrounded 
him,  has  long  become  a  shadow  and  a  dream,  his  dream- 
world is  still  real. 

The  world  within  him  with  its  Sabbath-air,  its  pure  sky 
of  serenest  blue,  with  its  touching  sorrow  and  soft  melody 
of  love,  lies  a  reality  before  us  in  the  "  Vita  Nuova  " ; 
and  the  "girl  who  has  evoked  this  world  has  become  a 


Broqi  photo 


DANTE 


FROM   A  BRONZE   OF  THE   XV   CRN  ' 
National  Muse: i. 'i i  ,  Naples 


BEATRICE  213 

glorified  mystery,  and  perhaps  the  highest  and  greatest 
illustration  of  that  famous  verse  of  Goethe's  which  is 
much  more  difficult  to  understand  than  to  quote : 

Das  Ewig-Weibliche  zieht  uns  hinan. 

No  artist  has  been  more  perfectly  imbued  with  the 
spirit  of  this  wonderful  book  than  Dante  Gabriel  Rossetti. 
The  pictures  which  he  created  to  illustrate  it  appear  to 
me  fitly  to  embody  the  pure  and  passionate  world  of  the 
11  Vita  Nuova."  But  Dante's  youthful  plan  was  not  carried 
out  so  quickly  as  he  had  expected.  Indeed,  it  took  him 
his  whole  life  to  do  it,  and  there  is  something  overpowering 
in  the  thought  how  literally  those  last  lines  came  true. 
But  the  path  was  not  so  even  and  straight  as  he  seems  to 
have  imagined  in  writing  them.  Fate,  it  is  true,  knows 
no  byways  and  no  circuits,  however  they  may  appear  to 
us  and  to  men.  The  way  we  are  led  by  it  is  the  only 
possible  way  to  fulfil  our  destiny.  In  the  M  Banquet " 
some  slight  mention  is  made  of  Beatrice,  but  after  this 
not  a  word  is  spoken  about  her  until  Dante  saw  her  once 
more  in  the  earthly  Paradise.  It  was  Beatrice  to  whom, 
after  long  years,  he  became  indebted  for  all  the  glories 
he  was  called  upon  to  see.  It  was  the  spirit  of  his  half- 
forgotten  love  who,  out  of  pity  for  Dante,  lost  in  the 
dark  wood  of  life,  sent  Virgil's  shade  to  his  rescue.  It 
was  at  her  bidding  that  Virgil  led  him  through  Hell, 
where  he  was  shown  the  souls  in  pain ;  then  over  the 
mountain  of  Purgatory  up  to  the  garden  of  Eden.  In 
Eden  Beatrice  receives  him  with  reproachful  love  and 
with  him  ascends  through  the  nine  heavens  to  the  Empy- 
rean, where,  like  an  immense  white  glowing  rose,  the 
celestial  Paradise  unfolds  itself,  and  where,  around  the 
holy  Trinity,   around  God  himself,   the   spirits   of   the 


2i4  DANTE  AND   HIS  TIME 

blessed  are  sitting,  and  the  angels  are  flying  from  leaf 
to  leaf  like  golden  bees.  Here  Beatrice,  too,  has  her 
place  in  the  inmost  row  on  the  fourth  seat ;  the  first  is 
St.  Mary's,  the  second  Eve's,  the  third  Rachael's,  the 
fourth  is  Beatrice's;  in  the  opposite  row,  among  the 
sainted  men,  John  the  Baptist  has  the  first  place  facing 
that  of  the  Virgin;  on  the  fourth,  corresponding  to 
Beatrice's,  sits  St.  Augustin. 

The  question  necessarily  forces  itself  on  every  reader's 
mind,  who  was  this  Beatrice  ?  What  daring  mood  could 
induce  Dante  to  assign  such  a  place  to  the  girl  he  loved  ? 
Yet  more  daring  still,  he  lets  her  appear  in  the  terrestrial 
Paradise  in  the  procession  of  the  triumphant  Church  : 

Under  a  heaven  thus  fair  as  I  narrate 

Did  four-and-twenty  elders  slowly  move, 
In  pairs,  with  fleur-de-lys  incoronate, 

And  they  all  sang,  "  Oh,  blessed  thou  above 
All  Adam's  daughters,  blessed  too  for  aye 

Be  all  thy  glorious  beauties  that  we  love  ! 
And  when  the  flowers  and  other  verdure  gay, 

That  on  the  other  bank  grew  opposite, 
Of  those  elect  ones  no  more  felt  the  sway, 

As  in  the  heaven  there  follows  light  on  light, 
Four  living  creatures  after  them  drew  nigh, 

Each  wearing  crown  of  leafage  green  and  bright. 
Plumed  with  six  wings  were  all  that  company  ; 

Of  eyes  their  plumes  were  full,  and  Argus'  eyes, 
Were  they  yet  living,  might  with  those  eyes  vie. 

The  space  within  the  four  a  car  enrings, 
That  on  two  wheels  in  triumph  moveth  on, 
I        Which  harnessed  to  his  neck  a  Gryphon  brings. 
And  his  two  wings,  on  this  and  that  side  one, 

Are  stretched  midway,  three  bands  on  either  side, 
So  that  by  cleaving  he  wrought  harm  to  none. 


BEATRICE  215 

In  vain  the  eye  their  height  to  follow  tryed ; 

So  far  as  he  was  bird,  all  gold  his  frame, 
And  white  the  rest,  with  vermeil  modified. 

(Plumptre.) 

The  Gryphon,  whose  wings  reach  into  heaven,  is 
Christ,  indicating  His  double  nature  ;  the  car,  drawn  by 
Him,  is  His  Church,  and  on  His  car  stands,  veiled,  in 
regal  attitude,  Beatrice. 

It  could   not  remain  doubtful  to   anybody   that   this 
meant  more  than  a  simple   meeting  with  the  girl,  who 
died  on  June  9,  1290.     The  Middle  Ages  more  than  any 
other  were  the  times  of  allegory  and  symbolism.    Beatrice 
standing  on  the  car,  that  represents  the  Church,  must  be 
the   living   essence   of  the   Church  ;    so   much  is  clear. 
Scholars    do    not  agree   on  a  more   precise  definition. 
Some  maintain  that  she  stands  for  Theology,  some  that 
she   is   Active    Intelligence,  others   propose  Revelation, 
Efficient  Grace,  Inspiration,  Belief,  and   the  like;  all  of 
which  notions  were  sharply  distinct  in  mediaeval  theology. 
To  us,  however,  who  cannot  treat  such  conceptions  as 
concrete  and  clearly  defined  things,  who  are  no  realists  in 
the  sense  of  mediaeval  philosophy,  to  us  all  these  seem,  as 
it  were,  to  melt  into  each  other  like  clouds,  without  clear 
limits  or  contents.     Or  let  us  rather  say,  they  are  words 
by  which  men  vainly  try  to  define  different  utterances  of 
the  same  difficult  psychological  fact.     It  is  sufficient  to 
say,  Beatrice   in   the    "  Divine   Comedy n   indicates   the 
Highest    that    Dante   knew,   the  essential   spirit   of  the 
Christian  Church  as  he  saw  it,  the  highest  illumination 
which  Divine  Grace  concedes  to  mankind. 

But  who  was  the  earth-born  woman  who  was  trans- 
figured to  such  a  symbol?  Who  was  she,  glorified  as 
never  a  woman  before  her,  and  allowed  to  conduct  her  i 


216  DANTE  AND    HIS  TIME 

lover  through  all  heavens,  who  was  made  the  symbol  of 
the  ray  of  heavenly  light  given  to  mankind  ?  It  is  easy 
to  conceive  that  this  question  has  incited  the  curiosity  of 
Dante's  own  time  as  well  as  of  all  following  generations. 

The  answer  was  soon  given.  Messer  Giovanni  Boccaccio, 
who  in  the  second  half  of  the  fourteenth  century  gave  lec- 
tures by  appointment  of  the  Republic  in  Florence  on  the 
"  Divine  Comedy  " — the  first  Dante  professor — declared 
that  he  had  heard  "  from  a  trustworthy  person  "  that  she 
was  no  other  than  young  Beatrice,  the  daughter  of  the 
noble  gentleman  and  neighbour  of  the  Alighieri,  Messer 
Folco  di  Ricovero  Portinari,  who  married  Messer  Simone 
de'  Bardi  and  died  at  the  age  of  twenty-four  in  the  year 
1290.  Five  centuries  of  men  accepted  this  assertion 
without  doubt  or  criticism,  through  five  centuries  the 
daughter  of  the  Portinari  enjoyed  a  glory  not  due  to  her 
— though  this  seems  a  matter  of  small  importance  con- 
sidering that  even  of  this  Beatrice  we  know  little  more 
than  the  name.  There  were  a  few  persons  who  doubted 
it ;  the  Franciscan  monk,  Francesco  da  Buti,  for  instance, 
who  shortly  after  Boccaccio  lectured  on  Dante  in  Pisa, 
and  who  declared  Beatrice  to  be  a  totally  different  person, 
of  the  same  name;  but  his  opinion  did  not  prevail. 
Possibly,  too,  he  only  alluded  to  the  Beatrice  of  the 
"  Divine  Comedy." 

We  to-day  know  that  all  that  Boccaccio  says  must  be 
considered  with  caution,  that  he  was  ever  writing  and 
thinking  novels,  that  he  had  no  idea  of  criticism,  was  of 
boundless  negligence,  and  very  talkative.  The  only 
passage  corroborating  his  evidence  occurs  in  a  manu- 
script of  the  Commentary  by  Dante's  son  Pietro,  and  is 
strongly  suspected  of  having  been  forged.* 
*  This  is  the  so-called  "Codex  Ashburnham."    On  this  point  see 


BEATRICE  217 

It  seems  unquestionable  that  Dante's  Beatrice  never 
married.  Those  who  maintained  that  she  had,  alleged  in 
proof  of  their  opinion  the  fifteenth  chapter  of  the  "  New 
Life,"  where  it  is  told  that  she,  with  other  ladies,  accom- 
panied a  newly-wedded  bride  to  her  husband's  house, 
saying  that  only  married  women  were  allowed  to  be 
present  on  such  occasion.  But  this  is  nothing  but  an 
arbitrary  supposition,  which  never  has  been  proved.  I, 
for  my  part,  am  sure  that  these  ladies  simply  were  brides- 
maids, unmarried  women,  who  then  as  well  as  to-day  and, 
in  fact,  long  before  that  time,  used  to  accompany  the  bride 
to  the  altar  and  then  to  her  husband's  home.  This 
passage,  therefore,  seems  to  prove  the  very  contrary, 
that  Beatrice,  at  least  at  the  time  when  this  event  hap- 
pened, was  still  unmarried. 

But,  more  than  such  paltry  evidence,  the  utter  want  of 
inward  probability  seems  decisive  to  me.  To  a  man  who 
loved  as  Dante  did,  the  marriage  of  his  beloved  would 
have  been  such  a  terrible  shock  that  some  sign  of  it,  some 
allusion  to  the  event  surely  would  be  found  in  the  "  New 
Life."  Some  change  would  have  to  be  noted  in  the  tone  in 
which  he  speaks  of  Beatrice,  who  certainly  must  have 
become  an  altered  being  in  his  eyes  from  the  moment  of 
her  marriage.  If  she  had  been  a  married  woman  already 
when  he  first  knew  her  this  might  have  been  different,  but 
he  had  known  her  as  a  little  girl  of  eight,  her  marriage  to 
another  man  must  have  been  the  greatest  event  in  the  his- 
tory of  his  love ;  but  not  a  word  is  said  on  it,  not  a  word 
betrays  the  terrible  disappointment  it  must  have  been  to 
him  ;  quite  the  contrary,  the  more  he  proceeds  the  happier 

Scartazzini,  "  Dantologia,"  p.  77;  Moore,  "Studies  in  Dante,"  second 
series,  pp.  150,  151 ;  and  particularly  Gietmann,  "Beatrice,"  pp.  146- 
151. 


218  DANTE  AND   HIS   TIME 

he  seems  to  become.  And  then,  a  man's  love  for  a  woman 
who  is  married  to  another  man  may  be  something  very 
high  and  beautiful,  but  the  more  it  is  so  the  more  vehement 
will  be  the  moral  conflict  in  the  lover's  heart,  more  espe- 
cially in  a  heart  so  devout  and  earnest  as  was  Dante's  ; 
there  cannot  have  been  that  deep,  quiet,  and  pure  joy  that 
pervades  the  "  New  Life."  We  need  but  compare  how  dark 
and  burning  Dante  has  painted  such  a  love,  which  he  him- 
self probably  experienced  in  his  later  days,  in  the  famous 
episode  of  Francesca  and  Paolo. 

There  are  authors  who  against  this  allege  the  poetical 
fashion  of  the  time,  to  praise  married  women  only ;  all 
troubadours  and  minstrels  did  so.  That  is  most  true,  but 
what  troubadour  ever  did  celebrate  his  mistress  as  Dante 
did  ?  His  style  of  praising  her  is  entirely  different  from 
that  of  the  troubadours,  however  indebted  he  may  be  to 
them  in  many  technical  respects.  There  is  a  moral  element 
in  Dante's  love-poetry  which  is  unknown  in  common  min- 
strelsy. Dante's  love  is  not  only  a  torment  and  a  joy,  butx 
iie  calls  it  "  holy  " ;  he  is  not  only  made  happy  or  unhappy, 
as  every  lover  is  by  his  love,  but  he  becomes  devout  and- 
pure.  Not  the  slightest  trace  of  anything  similar  can  be 
found  in  the  poetry  of  the  Provencals.  Besides,  their  lays 
leave  small  doubt  of  their  being  addressed  to  married 
women,  while  the  very  tone  of  the  w  New  Life  "  makes  it 
quite  unbelievable.  No  more  maidenly  form  can  be  ima- 
gined than  Beatrice,  no  feeling  can  be  more  pure,  more 
peaceful  and  elevated  than  Dante's.  And  why  should 
Dante,  who  was  an  exceptional  being  in  all  respects,  not 
have  made  an  exception  in  this  too  ?  Yet  it  cannot  even 
be  maintained  that  such  a  love^and  its  poetical  glorifica- 
tion is  contradictory  to  the  literary  custom  oFthe  time. 
Lyrical  poetry  in  the  Middle  Ages  was  occupied  only  with 


BEATRICE  219 

love  for  women  married  to  other  men,  but  in  the  numerous 
epic  poems  and  tales  of  the  period  which  possibly  were  read 
still  more,  love  to  a  damozel,  to  an  unmarried  princess  is  the 
general  theme,  and  the  death  or  the  wedding  of  the  lovers  is 
the  story's  end.    Whenever  the  poets  expressed  their  per- 
sonal adventures  or  feelings,  they  sang  of  married  women  or 
pretended  to  do  so ;  but  whenever  they  told  stories  which 
they  wanted  to  make  seem  true  to  the  reader  and  to  catch 
his  interest,  then  they  were  forced  to  imitate  real  life,  in 
which  wooing  and  wedding  at  all  times  played  an  important 
part,  and  they  invented  or  adorned  tales  of  dangerous 
courtships  and  difficult  marriages,  and  only  sometimes,  as 
in  the  tales  of  Tristan  and  Isolde,  of  Lancelot  and  Gui- 
nevere, tell  of  unlawful  love.    If  we  were  to  draw  any  con- 
clusions from  the  favourite  themes  of  the  time,  we  should 
even  be  forced  to  infer — just  as  from  the  usual  popular 
novels  of  the  day — that  love-matches  were  the  only  ones 
existing.   The  truth  is  that  customs,  opinions,  and  expres- 
sions change,  but  not  the  fundamental  impulses  of  men, 
and  the  literature  of  a  period  only  represents  what  occu- 
pied the  minds  of  men,  what  seemed  possible  or  desirable 
to  them,  and  therefore  never  gives  a  perfect  picture  of  the 
real  state  of  things,  unless  due  allowance  is  made  for  this 
difference.     To  an  unbiased  critic  the  time  of  the  trouba- 
dours will  not  appear  to  have  been  so  very  different  from 
our  own.     Love-songs  were  the  fashion,  and  many  poets 
sang  of  love  who  had  never  really  felt  it.     It  is  easy  to 
recognise  this  from  the  poems  themselves,  and  as  Diez 
says,  "  to  distinguish  at  the  first  glance  the  naive  tender- 
ness of  Bernart  de  Ventadour  from  the  cold  artificiality  of 
Arnaut  Daniel."     It  was  the  fashion  to  address  one's  love- 
songs  to  a  married  lady  of  the  highest  rank  possible ;  the 
object,  too,  was  selected  according  to  fashion.     In  cases 


220  DANTE  AND   HIS   TIME 

when  the  songs  were  the  fruits  of  real  passion,  dramas  and 
tragedies  were  not  wanting.  There  was  a  sufficient  number 
of  husbands  enamoured  of  their  own  wives,  and  most  at 
least  were  prone  to  jealousy.  If  we  glance  now  at  our 
own  literature,  we  shall  find  just  the  same;  there  are  few 
poems  of  our  lyrical  poets  addressed  to  their  own  wives, 
but  many  praising  women  whose  lovers  they  were  or  desired 
to  be.  At  all  times  a  commendable  hesitation  may  have 
prevented  poets  from  singing  aloud  of  a  love  of  which  all 
the  world  knew,  a  fact  which  cannot  but  be  distasteful  to 
persons  who  are  tenderly  and  deeply  in  love. 

But  Beatrice  never  was  Dante's  wife,  only  a  girl  whom 
he  adored.  And  we  need  not  even  go  so  far  to  prove  that 
such  an  adoration  expressed  in  poetry  was  not  so  very  ex- 
ceptional. Dante's  friend,  Cino  da  Pistoja,  in  one  of  his 
sonnets,  proposes  the  question  whether  it  be  better  to  love 
a  girl  or  a  married  woman,  saying  that  he  would  think  him  a 
fool  who,  having  the  choice  of  both,  would  decide  for  the 
married  woman.  That  certainly  proves  that  to  love  a  girl 
was  then  no  more  an  unheard-of  thing  in  a  poet  than  it  is 
now.  But  if  no  other  man  had  dared  to  infringe  the  laws 
of  fashion  and  sing  of  a  maid,  no  rule  of  fashion  can  be 
alleged  against  Dante ;  no  work  of  his  followed  the  fashion  ; 
they  stand  aloof  from  all  works  of  his  contemporaries. 
There  is  no  analogous  work  to  the  "  Vita  Nuova  "  or  to 
the  "  Divina  Commedia."  All  his  works  were  "  Nova," 
and  he  who  dared  to  speak  of  his  own  appearance  in 
heaven  and  hell  would  have  been  bold  enough  to  sing  of  a 
maid  that  appeared  so  pure  and  wondrous  to  him  as 
Beatrice,  even  if  no  other  man  would  ever  have  attempted 
a  similar  thing.  Scartazzini  is  quite  right  in  saying,  u  If 
we  are  informed  about  the  troubadours,  we  are  still  better 
informed  about  Dante,  and  know  that  his  judgment  in 


BEATRICE 

moral  and  sexual  matters  was  severer  not  only  than  that 
of  most  of  his  contemporaries,  but  even  than  that  of  most 
men  of  our  days."  That  does  not  impeach  the  fact  that 
this  passionate  man,  in  the  time  of  his  aberration,  which 
he  himself  condemned  so  severely  afterwards,  had  loved 
married  women  also. 

We  know  nothing  of  Dante's  loves ;  we  do  not  know 
whether  his  love  was  ever  successful  or  unrequited.  But 
we  know  that  he  has  celebrated  other  women  in  after 
years — at  least  one — and  that  nobody  who  never  had  felt 
the  like  himself  could  have  painted  the  sinful  love  of 
Francesca  and  Paolo  so  touchingly,  in  so  vivid  colours, 
and  above  all  so  compassionately  as  Dante  has  done  in 
the  fifth  canto  of  Hell.  There  are  things  which  nobody 
can  paint  without  having  gone  through.  Only  a  poet 
who  had  passed  through  such  dark  and  tragic  experiences 
as  Lord  Byron  could  find  the  strong  words  in  "  Heaven 
and  Earth  "  which  so  vividly  remind  us  of  that  dark  love- 
scene  in  the  second  circle  of  Hell : 

Great  is  their  love  who  love  in  sin  and  fear. 

But  at  the  time  of  the  "  Vita  Nuova  "  Dante  deemed 
himself  a  pure  child  of  God,  not  yet  was  he  lost  in  the 
dark  wood  of  life — it  was  the  time  of  which  Beatrice 
speaks  to  the  angels  : 

Not  only  as  the  wheels  majestic  sweep 

That  guide  each  seed  to  its  appointed  end, 
According  as  the  stars  their  concert  keep, 

But  through  the  bounteous  graces  God  doth  send, 
Which  have  such  lofty  vapours  for  their  rain, 

No  mortal  can  his  glance  so  far  extend, 
He,  when  his  New  Life  he  did  first  attain, 

Potentially  was  such  that  every  good 
In  him  had  power  a  wondrous  height  to  gain. 

(Plumptre. 


222  DANTE  AND   HIS  TIME 

The  ruling  experience  of  such  a  time,  that  in  after  years 
appeared  so  pure  and  godly  to  him,  cannot  have  been  the 
love  for  another  man's  wife. 

At  any  rate,  it  was  not  Beatrice  dei  Bardi,  ne'e  Portinari.* 
Who  she  was  we  do  not  know,  and  probably  never  shall. 
The  name  of  the  woman  that  was  glorified  more  than  any 
other  seems  by  a  curious  coincidence  to  have  been  lost 
for  ever. 

The  question  has  been  put  whether  she  returned 
Dante's  love.  It  seems  to  have  been  the  case  by  some 
allusions  of  Dante  and  by  his  whole  way  of  treating  the 
subject.  Yet  the  fact  is  of  little  importance  to  us.  Per- 
haps she  was  but  a  pretty  Florentine  girl,  not  even  capable 
of  appreciating  a  man  like  Dante,  a  girl  who  perhaps 
passed  him  with  a  slight  pity  and  nodding  of  her  head, 
though  this  is  not  likely.  For  only  the  first  poems  com- 
plain of  her  cruelty,  the  later  are  all  joy  and  loving 
admiration.  But,  as  I  said,  it  is  a  matter  of  little  import- 
ance to  us ;  for,  whoever  she  was  or  whatever  felt,  on 
him  she  has  made  such  an  impression  that  for  her  sake 

He  stepped  apart  from  out  the  common  herd. 

The  image  which  remained  of  her  in  the  poet's  brain  is 
essential,  for  we  know  her  only  by  that.     She  has  been 

*  Her  christian-name  seems  to  have  been  Beatrice,  though  one 
might  doubt  it.  For  Beatrice  means  "  she  who  makes  blessed,"  and 
in  the  place  where  Dante  first  speaks  of  her,  he  calls  her  "  the  glorious 
lady  of  my  mind  who  was  called  Beatrice  by  many  who  knew  not  where- 
fore." I  was  myself  of  this  opinion,  that  Dante  only  chose  this  signifi- 
cant name  for  her,  and  I  have  expressed  this  opinion  in  my  little  book 
on  the  "Vita  Nuova,"  but  Lieutenant-Colonel  Pochhammer  called  my 
attention  to  the  fact  that  if  Beatrice  were  a  solemn  and  allegoric  name, 
Dante  never  would  have  used  the  tender  abbreviation  of  "  Bice,"  and 
spoken  of  her  in  the  same  breath  with  "  Vanna  "  (Jennie),  Guido's  love. 
The  passage  quoted  above  probably  means,  that  when  she  was  baptized 
the  name  of  Beatrice  was  chosen,  not  without  Divine  inspiration. 


BEATRICE  223 

praised  in  innumerable  songs,  painted  by  countless  artists 
— yet  we  do  not  know  who  she  was  nor  how  she 
appeared. 

This  ignorance  and  the  evident  symbolism  of  the 
14  Divine  Comedy  "  were  the  causes  that  led  some  authors 
to  express  doubts  whether  she  existed  at  all,  and  to  de- 
clare the  Beatrice  of  the  "  New  Life,"  too,  to  have  been 
only  an  allegory.  The  principal  authors  of  recent  date 
who  have  maintained  this  interpretation  in  pleasant  con- 
cordance of  opinion  have  come  to  these  results  :  Gabriele 
Rossetti,  that  Beatrice  indicates  the  Roman  Empire,  while 
Father  Gietmann  proves  just  the  contrary,  that  she  means 
the  Roman  Church  ;  Francesco  Perez  declares  her  to  be 
"  Active  Intelligence,"  and  Professor  Bartoli  maintains 
that  she  is  simply  the  Ideal  Woman. 

Many  have  replied  to  this  with  the  ironical  questions 
why  Dante,  just  at  the  age  of  nine,  should  have  en- 
countered the  Roman  Empire,  aged  eight,  in  the  streets 
of  Florence,  and  why  the  Roman  Empire  laughed  so 
merrily  whenever  it  saw  him,  and  how  the  Church  could 
ever  go  to  Church,  and  how  it  was  possible  that  the 
Active  Intelligence  died  precisely  on  June  9,  1290;  and 
a  hundred  similar  things  which  are  not  to  be  understood. 
One  "  Idealist "  refutes  the  other,  and  hardly  any  has 
found  adherents.* 

All  these  writers  may  be  great  scholars,  but  they  are 
no  psychologists ;  they  seem  to  have  no  idea  of  what 
passes  in  a  poet's  brain,  and  how  actual  events  of  his  life 
may  be  transformed  in  his  fancy.  Those  who  think 
Dante's  language  too  rapturous  and  exalted  do  not  know 

*  A  more  detailed  refutation  of  these  interpretations  may  be  found  in 
my  translation  of  the  "Vita  Nuova"  (••  Das  Neue  Leben  des  Dante 
Alighieri."     Otto  Hendel ;  Halle,  1897). 


224  DANTE   AND   HIS   TIME 

the  feeling  and  the  language  of  pure  and  enthusiastic 
passion,  for  such  Dante  wrote  the  verse, 

Intender  non  la  puo  chi  non  la  prova. 

The  language  of  one  of  the  greatest  German  poets, 
Friedrich  Holderlin,  is  quite  as  exalted,  though  dimmed 
with  the  morbid  element  of  his  impending  madness  ;  and 
if  we  did  not  know  so  surely  that  the  Diotima  of  his 
poems  was  a  real  woman,  Madame  Gontard,  the  wife  of  a 
banker  in  Frankfort,  perhaps  professors  in  time  to  come 
would  declare  her  only  an  abstract  ideal  and  an  allegory. 
If  we  accept  at  all  the  insipid  discrimination  between 
sensual  and  spiritual  love,  which  Nietsche  rightly  says 
nobody  who  ever  loved  truly  could  make,  even  if  we 
accept  it  at  all,  then,  in  the  fifth  canto  of  Hell,  where 
Dante's  theme  is  not  only  sensual  but  sinful  love,  and 
where  Francesca  speaks  of  Paolo's  love  for  her  fair  body, 
this  love  is  called  "  Amor  che  al  cor  gentil  ratto  s'  ap- 
prende  "  ("Love  that  so  easily  befalls  a  noble  heart ") — the 
same  quotation  from  Guido  Guinicelli,  of  which  Dante 
makes  use  to  characterise  his  love  for  Beatrice  in  the 
"  New  Life." 

And  how  is  it  that  Dante,  who  always  and  everywhere, 
in  the  "  Banquet "  as  well  as  in  the  "  Divine  Comedy," 
warns  the  reader  not  to  interpret  his  words  too  literally, 
but  expressly  calls  his  attention  to  the  symbolic  meaning, 
failed  to  do  this  in  the  "  New  Life  ?  "  As  for  me,  those 
insipid  interpretations  would  mar  and  spoil  the  joy  I  feel 
in  reading  the  "  New  Life."  What  is  the  use  of  knowing 
that  a  rose  which  we  believed  to  be  a  real,  fresh  and  dewy 
rose,  is  only  a  paper  imitation,  painted  and  scented  ? 
Why  should  Dante  not  have  been  a  man  of  sound  heart 
and  senses  ?     And  how  could  he  write  such  beautiful 


BEATRICE  2*5 

love-poems  if  he  never  loved  a  real  woman  ?  I  at  least, 
and  many  others,  when  reading  the  "  New  Life,"  have 
the  psychological  certainty  that  the  rose  is  a  true  one,  and 
that  is  sufficient.  Who  prefers  the  artificial  rose  may 
stick  to  it ;  that  is  a  matter  of  taste  and  intuition  ;  a  final 
and  decisive  argument  is  impossible. 

But,  having  once  made  certain  of  this,  we  may  say  in 
quite  a  different  sense :  Yes,  Beatrice  is  a  symbol  ; 
Beatrice  in  the  u  New  Life  "  and  in  the  "  Divine  Comedy  " 
are  the  same.  Dante  did  love  a  real  woman,  and  that 
woman  was  Beatrice,  was  the  light  of  Heaven  itself.  And 
the  Beatrice  of  the  "  Divine  Comedy  "  is  no  other  than 
the  beloved  of  his  youth.  Dante  certainly  never  doubted 
for  a  moment  that  Virgil,  who  in  the  sacred  epic  stands 
for  human  wisdom  or  the  like,  once  lived  as  a  real  Roman 
poet;  he  was  sure  that  Leah  and  Rachel,  who  in  his 
poem,  thereby  following  the  interpretation  given  in  a  letter 
of  Pope  Gregory  I.,  symbolise  active  and  contemplative 
life,  were  once  living  girls  in  Judaea  of  old  ;  he  himself  in 
the  "  Comedy "  represents  man  in  general,  and  yet  was 
Dante  Alighieri  the  Florentine  poet ;  the  nine  heavens  in 
the  "  Banquet "  denoted  the  nine  sciences,  and  still  in  his 
opinion  continued  to  turn  around  the  earth.  Even  so, 
Beatrice  was  at  the  same  time  the  Florentine  girl  he  had 
loved  in  early  days,  and  the  symbol  of  divine  love  in 
Heaven.  In  his  works  we  trace  all  the  steps  and  phases 
of  her  glorification.  At  first  she  was  but  an  earth-born 
woman  he  loved,  but  the  world  is  full  of  symbols  and 
symbolism,  and  all  poetry  is  based  en  this  fact.  The 
more  poetical  a  man's  soul  is,  the  better  is  he  enabled 
to  see  it.  We  cannot  speak  without  using  figures  and 
symbols.  Every  flower  that  grows  and  fades  is  a  symbol 
of  the  fate  of  man,  of  art,  of  nations,  of  the  globe  itself. 

p 


226  DANTE  AND   HIS  TIME 

Think  of  all  the  similes  in  the  gospel,  of  the  million  of 
figures  in  poetry  !  There  is  no  phenomenon  in  the  world 
which  could  not  be  made  an  exemplification  of  a  deeper 
meaning.  Why  should  a  lily  or  a  sower  be  a  better 
symbol  than  a  beautiful  human  being  ? 

There  is  no  great  poetry  without  symbolism.  The 
purer  a  poet  receives  life,  and  the  fuller  it  falls  in  his 
soul's  mirror,  the  richer  in  meaning  will  his  work  be. 
But  if  he  try  to  force  it  into  too  distinct  invented  allegory, 
life  will  oppose  such  violence  and  the  clear  sharp  images 
will  become  dark  and  misleading.  For  the  world  is  a 
great  manifest  mystery,  and  the  greatest  of  all  wonders 
is  our  getting  so  accustomed  to  them  that  we  no  longer 
see  that  we  are  walking  in  wonderland. 

We  have  no  need  of  such  violent  interpretations.  We 
need  not  force  more  symbolism  into  Dante's  poetry  than 
it  contains,  and  we  shall  find  it  but  the  more  strikingly 
beautiful  and  mysterious  for  its  being  natural  and  clear. 
The  real  woman  that  Beatrice  was,  appeared  to  him 
as  something  so  high  and  as  a  reflection  of  something 
higher  still;  just  as  he  expressed  it  in  the  "Divine  Comedy," 
where  she  looks  into  the  face  of  God  and  he  into  hers  to 
catch  the  reflection  of  Divine  Love,  which  in  itself  would 
be  unbearable  to  him.  She  seemed  to  be  the  sweetest 
thing  that  God  could  create,  a  thing  of  heavenly  nature 
that  had  returned  to  its  source,  a  lovely  wonder,  a 
"  novem,"  a  "  nine  "  whose  root  is  the  "  three,"  that  is,  the 
Holy  Trinity,  and  she  a  thing  that  the  Holy  Trinity 
created,  in  the  loving  purpose  to  make  mankind  blessed 
by  her  presence.  All  this  is  but  the  exaltation  of  a 
lover's  trance  and  will  not  appear  so  very  exaggerated  to 
anybody  who  ever  really  loved  ;  it  is  as  natural  as  that 
the  town  seemed  void  and  empty  to  him  when  she  died.  ' 


BEATRICE  227 

But  what  now  follows  is  a  psychic  phenomenon  that 
resembles  a  painter's  choice  of  the  fairest  and  noblest 
woman  he  knows  to  sit  to  him  for  a  picture  of  the  Blessed 
Virgin.  So  Dante  chose  the  fairest  and  noblest  woman 
he  knew  to  become  the  symbol  of  Divine  Love  and  Grace. 

She  was  to  him  an  emanation  from  heaven,  a  concentra- 
tion of  all  that  is  beautiful ;  she  must  of  necessity  become 
a  symbol  of  the  highest  that  he  knew.  As  Sir  Philip 
Sidney  said  of  "  Stella,"  whose  reality  has  never  been 
doubted,*  that 

Virtue,  if  it  once  met  with  our  eyes, 

Strange  flames  of  love  it  in  our  souls  would  raise ; 
But — for  that  man  with  pain  this  truth  descries 

Whiles  he  each  thing  in  sense's  balance  weighs, 
And  so  nor  will  nor  can  behold  those  skies 

Which  inward  sun  to  heroic  mind  displays — 
Virtue  of  late,  with  virtuous  care  to  stir 

Love  of  herself,  took  Stella's  shape,  that  she 
To  mortal  eyes  might  sweetly  shine  in  her. 

(From  Astrophel  and  Stella,  Sonnet  xxv.) 

What  the  inner  sense  gives  to  heroic  souls  the  beloved 
woman  gives  to  her  lover,  but  her  beauty  will  make  it 
manifest  to  unheroic  souls  too.  That  is  the  language  of 
a  high-minded  and  enthusiastic  time. 

This  it  was  that  passed  in  Dante's  soul.  A  common 
mind — and  such  he*would  have  had  if  those  commentators 
were  in  the  right — would  have  invented  some  ideal  woman 
for  his  allegory ;  that  is  the  common  way.  But  Dante 
chose  a  living  woman  whom  he  glorified. 

Here  as  ever  he  dared  to  draw  from  life.  He  did  not 
invent  some  female  figure  to  embody  a  divine  meaning, 

*  "  Stella"  was  married  to  Lord  Rich  in  1581.  Sidney  married  in 
1583.  The  sonnets  in  all  other  respects  differ  very  much  from  those  of 
Dante. 


228  DANTE   AND   HIS   TIME 

he  saw  the  divine  meaning  embodied  in  the  living  woman. 
And  when  she  died  and  became  a  spirit  the  thing  was 
rendered  still  easier.  For  now  that  she  was  a  spirit, 
dwelling  in  the  invisible  world,  and  the  corporeal  garment 
was  put  off,  he  had  but  to  heighten  her  rank,  not  to 
change  her  substance.  He  makes  this  quite  clear  in  the 
verses  of  the  "  New  Life  "  : 

But  from  the  height  of  woman's  fairness,  she, 
Going  up  from  us  with  the  joy  we  had, 

Grew  perfectly  and  spiritually  fair  ; 

That  so  she  spreads  even  there 
A  light  of  love  which  makes  the  angels  glad, 

And  even  unto  their  subtle  minds  can  bring 

A  certain  awe  of  profound  marvelling. 

(Rossetti.) 

She  had  been  a  mysterious  being  to  him  already  in  the 
"  Vita  Nuova."  The  "New  Life  "  is  no  common  love-story. 
In  a  mind  so  strange  and  extraordinary  as  Dante's  was, 
every  event  reflected  itself  in  a  strange  and  original  way. 
He  nowhere  speaks  of  his  desire  to  kiss  her,  to  wed  her, 
though  he  certainly  desired  it,  for  he  tells  how  the 
Florentine  ladies  smiled  at  his  timidity,  but  there  he  only 
speaks  of  the  impression  which  her  appearance  made  on 
his  soul ;  the  sense  of  happiness,  which  makes  him  see 
the  whole  creation  as  a  world  of  blessedness  and  joy, 
until  he  perceives  that  in  her  he  loves  the  Universe. 
Love  itself,  the  powerful  ruler  of  beings,  rules  him  through 
her. 

And  even  when  raised  to  Paradise  she  never  ceased  to 
be  his  former  love !  Fancy  the  poet  sitting  at  his  desk 
or  walking  in  a  country  lane  and  working  at  the  "  Divine 
Comedy " ;  the  more  vividly  he  saw  before  his  spiritual 
eyes  the  shape  of  the  woman  so  soon  lost  and  so  long 


BEATRICE  229 

deplored,  the  more  his  language,  when  speaking  of  the 
great  symbol  on  the  Divine  Car,  took  the  form  of  earthly 
love.  Compare  the  verses  in  which  he  describes  their 
meeting  in  Eden  : 

Oft  have  I  seen  how  all  the  east  was  crowned 

At  very  break  of  day  with  roseate  hue, 
And  all  the  sky  beside  serener  found ; 

And  the  sun's  face  o'erclouded  came  in  view, 

The  vapours  so  attempering  its  powers, 
That  the  eye  gazed  long  while,  nor  weary  grew  : 

And  so,  enveloped  in  a  cloud  of  flowers, 

Which  leapt  up,  scattered  by  angelic  hands, 
And  part  within  and  part  without  sent  showers, 

Clad  in  white  veil  with  olive-wreathed  bands, 

A  lady  in  a  mantle  bright  and  green 
O'er  robe  of  fiery  glow  before  me  stands. 

And  then  my  spirit,  which  so  long  had  been 

Without  the  wonder  that  had  once  dismayed, 
When  that  dear  presence  by  mine  eyes  was  seen, 

Though  nothing  more  to  vision  was  displayed, 

Through  secret  power  that  passed  from  her  to  me 
The  mighty  spell  of  ancient  love  obeyed. 

Soon  as  I  stricken  stood,  in  act  to  see, 

By  that  high  power  that  pierced  me  with  his  dart 
Ere  yet  I  passed  from  out  my  boyhood  free, 

I  to  the  left  with  wistful  look  did  start, 

As  when  an  infant  seeks  his  mother's  breast 
When  fear  or  anguish  vex  his  troubled  heart, 

To  say  to  Virgil :  "  Trembling,  fear-opprest, 

Is  every  drop  of  blood  in  every  vein ; 
I  know  that  old  flame's  tokens  manifest." 

And  she  herself  later  on  tells  the  angels  who  plead  for  him ; 


230  DANTE    AND    HIS   TIME 

Awhile  my  face  was  strong  his  life  to  build, 

And  I,  unveiling  to  him  my  young  eyes, 
In  the  straight  path  to  lead  him  on  was  skilled. 

So  soon  as  I  had  reached  the  point  where  lies 
Our  second  age,  and  I  my  life  had  changed, 
Me  he  forsook,  and  chose  another  prize. 

And  when  I  had  from  flesh  to  spirit  ranged, 
And  loveliness  and  virtue  in  me  grew, 
I  was  to  him  less  dear  and  more  estranged. 

(Plumptre.) 

I  believe  these  verses  should  leave  no  doubt  on  the 
double  nature  of  Beatrice. 

At  the  close  of  "  Faust "  Goethe  made  use  of  several 
motives  of  Dante's,  though  in  a  colder  and  paler  form, 
for  the  glowing  ecstasy  of  Dante,  to  whom  all  mortal 
things  were  in  truth  but  similes,  was  not  given  to  him. 
There  we  find  the  celebrated  verse  which  I  quoted  before  : 
11  Das  Ewig-Weibliche  zieht  uns  hinan."  Pochhammer 
and  Bulle  have  both  called  our  attention  to  the  fact  that 
this  verse,  almost  Goethe's  last,  which  is  so  seldom  under- 
stood, is  to  be  found  among  the  last  verses  of  Dante  too, 
in  his  adieu  to  Beatrice  : 

Lady,  in  whom  my  hope  breathes  quickening  air, 

And  who  for  my  salvation  didst  endure 
To  pass  to  Hell  and  leave  thy  footprints  there, 

Of  all  mine  eyes  have  seen  with  vision  pure, 

As  coming  from  thy  goodness  and  thy  might, 
I  the  full  grace  and  mercy  know  full  sure. 

Thou  me,  a  slave,  to  freedom  didst  invite, 

By  all  the  means  and  on  the  glorious  way 
Thy  power  alone  could  work  such  ends  aright. 

Still  keep  for  me  thy  bounteous  love's  display 

So  that  my  soul,  which  owes  its  health  to  thee, 
May,  pleasing  thee,  be  freed  once  from  this  clay  ! 


BEATRICE  231 

With  these  words  he  takes  leave  of  her,  St.  Bernard 
steps  into  her  place,  and  through  the  mediation  of  the 
Virgin  leads  him  to  see  the  countenance  of  God.  Now  all 
the  prophecies  of  the  "  New  Life  "  were  fulfilled.  As  his 
own  soul  rose  ever  higher  and  higher  by  mysterious 
ways,  so  he  raised  her,  who  was  his  leading  star,  higher 
still.  He  raised  her — but  by  a  strange  delusion,  which 
seems  an  optic  law  of  all  poetry,  he  fancied  that  it  was 
she  who  elevated  him.  And  who  is  to  say  what  is 
delusion,  what  reality,  in  such  mysterious  phenomena  ?  . 

That  is  the  "  Geistesgang  "  of  Dante,  as  far  as  Beatrice  is  f>CU/*'  $  \ 
concerned,  and  in  those  dry  interpretations  the  link  is 
torn,  the  path  destroyed,  on  which  Dante  led  his  "  blessed 
giver  of  bliss,"  and  himself,  too,  from  the  love  for  a 
beautiful  young  Florentine  woman — as  she  was  in  the 
"  New  Life  " — to  that  high  Beatrice  who  is  seen  standing 
on  the  car  of  Christ,  who  is  light  itself,  and  sits  enthroned 
at  the  Virgin's  side  in  the  flaming  rose  of  Paradise. 

His  whole  life  was  given  up  to  this  path  ;  but  he  trans- 
posed the  mystic  meeting  in  the  other  world  from  the  late 
years,  when  he  described  it,  into  the  Easter  week  of  the 
year  1 300.  We  do  not  know  why ;  the  year  certainly  was 
an  important  and  decisive  one  for  him,  and  the  interval  of 
ten  years  that  lies  between  it  and  Beatrice's  death  was  an 
agitated  and  eventful  time,  that  formed  the  second  period 
of  his  life. 


CHAPTER    IV 

DANTE  AND   FLORENCE 

Deep  despair  seems  to  have  hovered  over  Dante's  soul 
after  the  death  of  Beatrice,  at  least  for  the  few  following 
years.  History  has  little  to  tell  us  about  him,  yet  we 
may  broadly  trace  the  ways  he  now  took,  and  which  after- 
wards appeared  to  him  false  and  erroneous,  and  in  a  certain 
sense  may  have  been  so,  but  which  for  his  development 
certainly  were  as  necessary  as  all  others.  He  himself 
says  in  the  "  Banquet,"  in  the  thirteenth  chapter  of  the 
second  treatise :  "  When  the  first  joy  of  my  soul  was  lost, 
I  remained  in  such  sorrow  that  no  consolation  could  bring 
comfort  to  me.  Yet  after  a  certain  time,  as  neither  my 
own  nor  foreign  consolation  was  of  avail  to  me,  my  spirit, 
that  longed  for  healing,  found  rescue  in  the  way  in  which 
other  disconsolate  persons  had  found  relief  before.  And 
I  began  to  read  that  book  of  Boethius,  which  is  not  known 
to  many,  and  with  which  he  comforted  himself  in  prison 
and  in  banishment."  Then  he  proceeds  to  speak  of  other 
books  he  read,  and  tells  what  he  thought  and  wrote  of 
them,  and  how  "  he  had  seen  strange  things  as  in  a  dream 
before,"  "and  as  it  often  happens  that  a  man  goes  forth 
to  seek  silver  and  without  intention  finds  gold,  which  a 
hidden  cause,  perhaps  not  without  Divine  Providence,  puts 
in  his  way,  so  did  I,  who  sought  to  console  myself,  find 


DANTE   AND   FLORENCE  233 

not  only  comfort  for  my  tears  but  a  knowledge  of  authors, 
sciences  and  books,  and  considering  these  I  judged  that 
Philosophy,  who  was  the  mistress  of  all  these  authors, 
sciences  and  books,  must  needs  be  something  very  high. 
And  I  fancied  her  in  the  shape  of  a  noble  woman,  and  I 
could  not  think  of  her  otherwise  but  as  of  a  being  full  of 
gentle  pity,  and  my  sense  of  truth  saw  her  with  such 
pleasure  that  it  scarce  could  ever  turn  from  her.  And 
from  this  imagination  I  began  to  go  thither,  where  she 
revealed  herself  in  reality,  that  is,  to  the  schools  of  con- 
vents and  to  the  disputations  of  the  learned,  so  that  in  a 
short  time,  perhaps  in  thirty  months,  I  began  to  feel  so 
much  of  her  sweetness  that  my  love  for  her  expelled  and 
destroyed  every  other  thought." 

So  we  hear  from  his  own  mouth  that,  after  the  death  of 
his  beloved,  Dante  devoted  himself  to  studies,  and  that 
he  did  this  with  all  the  vehemence  of  his  temper.  In  the 
first  chapter  of  the  third  book  he  says :  "  Oh  how  many 
nights  did  pass,  when  the  eyes  of  other  men  were  closed 
in  slumber  while  mine  looked  fixedly  and  immovably  on  the 
dwelling-place  of  my  love  ! "  And  again  in  the  ninth 
chapter :  "  In  that  same  year  I  so  weakened  the  spirits 
of  vision  by  too  much  reading  that  the  stars  seemed  to 
me  surrounded  by  a  kind  of  white  mist,  and  only  by  long 
repose  in  dark  and  cool  places,  and  by  cooling  the  eye- 
balls with  limpid  water,  did  I  recover  the  diseased  power, 
so  that  it  returned  to  its  former  state  of  health." 

Dante  never  gave  up  his  studies  ;  he  became  one  of  the 
most  learned  men  of  his  time ;  one  who  had  read  all 
works  of  importance  and  was  master  of  all  its  knowledge. 
He  seems  to  have  made  one  farther  step :  we  know  from 
a  trustworthy  report  that  Dante  for  some  time  was  a 
novice  of  the  Order  of  St.  Francis,  but  left  the  cloister 


234  DANTE   AND   HIS  TIME 

without  taking  orders.  In  the  subterranean  journey  he  tells 
that  around  his  waist  he  wore  the  cord  by  which  he  for  a 
time  had  thought  to  master  the  "  pard,"  thatjs,  the  spirit  of 
lust.  There  is  some  probability  that  this  may  have  happened 
in  those  years,  but  possibly,  too,  it  was  much  later.  In 
those  years  of  literary  occupation  he  probably  composed 
the  book  written  in  the  memory  of  his  youthful  love. 

Yet  dimly,  dimly  through  the  dark  mist  which  the 
length  of  six  hundred  years  and  the  utter  want  of  notices 
have  spread  over  Dante's  life,  we  may  recognise  that  his 
retirement  from  the  world  was  not  of  long  duration. 
The  "  ways  of  error,"  with  which  he  so  passionately  re- 
proached himself  in  after  years,  began  and  led  him  into 
that  dark  forest  with  the  description  of  which  the  "  Divine 
Comedy  "  opens,  and  out  of  which  he  was  saved  by  his 
passage  through  the  realms  of  the  dead.  He  returned 
to  life  and  entered  its  arena  with  all  the  ardent  activity  of 
his  mind.  But  "  Experience  sullies  " — he,  too,  came  to 
know  that. 

In  the  u  VitaNuova  "  we  are  informed  of  a  second  love, 
against  which  he  fought,  and  which  is  described  with  no 
less  grace  and  loveliness  than  the  first. 

Subtle  inquiries  have  been  made  by  interpreters  who 
attempted  to  discover  who  the  lady  of  this  second  love 
may  have  been,  whether  she  was  Philosophy  or  even,  as 
Scartazzini  will  have  it,  Dante's  wife.  We  do  not  know 
it.  It  may  have  been  some  other  woman  for  whom  he 
perhaps  might  have  felt  a  passing  inclination  in  the  time 
between  the  death  of  Beatrice  and  his  own  marriage. 
Scartazzini's  supposition  that  the  "  donna  della  finestra  " 
was  Dante's  wife  seems  quite  untenable,  for  Dante  every- 
where and  always  avoided  speaking  of  the  latter,  so  that 
this  would  be  the  only  instance  of  his  mentioning  her. 


DANTE   AND   FLORENCE  235 

That  is  impossible  in  itself,  and,  besides,  it  would   have 
been  done  in  another  manner.* 

But  we  know  that  Dante  for  a  time  led  rather  a  dissolute 
life,  which  cannot  well  have  been  in  another  period,  and 
which  probably  was  but  another  way  in  which  he  tried  to 
deaden  his  despair  at  the  loss  of  Beatrice.  There  is  a 
sonnet  that  Guido  Cavalcanti  addressed  to  him,  in  which 
he  says : 

I  come  to  thee  by  daytime  constantly, 

But  in  thy  thoughts  too  much  of  baseness  find ; 

Greatly  it  grieves  me  for  thy  gentle  mind, 
And  for  thy  many  virtues  gone  from  thee. 
It  was  thy  wont  to  shun  such  company, 

Unto  all  sorry  concourse  ill  inclined  : 

And  stiyll  thy  speech  of  me,  heartfelt  and  kind, 
Had  made  me  treasure  up  thy  poetry. 
But  now  I  dare  not,  for  thine  abject  life 

Make  manifest  that  I  approve  thy  rhymes ; 
Nor  come  I  in  such  sort  that  thou  mayst  know. 

Ah !  prythee,  read  this  sonnet  many  times : 
So  shall  that  evil  one  who  bred  this  strife 

Be  thrust  from  thy  dishonoured  soul  and  go. 

(Rossetti.) 

*  It  is  true  that  Dante  himself  says  in  the  •■  Banquet  "  that  the  object 
of  this  second  love  was  Philosophy.  But  I  do  not  think  we  can  believe 
him,  the  more  so  as  he  wrote  this  passage  at  a  time  when  he  thought 
himself  obliged  to  be  ashamed  of  his  love-songs,  and  declared  all  of 
them  to  be  only  allegories.  Those  who  are  of  the  opinion  that  Beatrice 
is  a  mere  symbol  have,  of  course,  always  alleged  that  place  in  their 
favour.  How  little  is  proved  by  it  I  have  tried  to  state  in  my  work  on 
the  "  Vita  Nuova,"  in  the  notes  to  chapter  xxiv.  Indeed,  few  authors 
trusted  Dante's  explanation  in  this  matter ;  nor  did  he  give  it  with 
much  skill,  for  in  the  "Vita  Nuova"  he  had  called  this  second  love 
"  faithless,"  "  accursed,"  and  "  vile,"  and  in  the  "  Banquet  "  it  is  called 
a  "love  of  heavenly  power,"  and  one  originated  by  Divine  influence. 
The  reverse  order  were  possible,  but  thus  this  late  interpretation, 
authentic  though  it  be,  seems  but  an  unsuccessful  and  unskilful  attempt 
to  hide  the  real  state  of  things 


236  DANTE   AND   HIS   TIME 

This  poem  would  not  be  sufficient  proof,  for  friends  are 
apt  to  be  susceptible,  and  if  a  man  does  not  live  according 
to  their  counsel  and  theories,  they  will  soon  find  that  he 
is  on  the  way  to  perdition.  A  man  like  Dante  could  well 
walk  paths  which  were  not  always  understood  by  a 
Cavalcanti. 

But  in  the  23rd  canto  of  Purgatory  Dante  encounters 
his  brother-in-law,  Forese  Donati,  among  those  who  had 
led  a  life  of  gluttony,  and  says,  "  I  do  not  like  to  think  of 
the  life  we  two  once  led  in  each  other's  company."  We 
have  besides  four  sonnets,  two  by  Dante  and  two  by 
Forese  Donati,  poems  of  mutual  mockery,  which,  though 
not  containing  things  which  would  deserve  to  be  called 
infamous,  nevertheless  are  written  in  a  rather  ignoble  tone 
of  rude  and  vulgar  jest,  a  kind  of  tap-room  poetry, 
especially  those  of  Dante.     The  first  runs  thus  : 

O  Bicci,  pretty  son  of  who  knows  whom, 
Unless  thy  mother,  Lady  Tessa,  tell, — 
Thy  gullet  is  already  crammed  too  well, 

Yet  others'  food  thou  needs  must  now  consume. 

Lo  !  he  that  wears  a  purse  makes  ample  room 
When  thou  goest  by  in  any  public  place, 
Saying,  "  This  fellow  with  the  branded  face 

Is  thief  apparent  from  his  mother's  womb." 

And  I  know  one  who's  fain  to  keep  his  bed 

Lest  thou  shouldst  filch  it,  at  whose  birth  he  stood 
Like  Joseph  when  the  world  its  Christmas  saw. 

Of  Bicci  and  his  brothers  it  is  said 
That  with  the  heat  of  misbegotten  blood 

Among  their  wives  they  are  nice  brothers-in-law. 

Bicci  was  Forese's  nickname.  In  his  answer,  Forese 
taunts  him  with  having  forborne  to  take  revenge  for  the 
murder  of  his  relative,  Geri,  son  of  Bello,  and  among  other 
things  he  says : 


DANTE  AND   FLORENCE  237 

Right  well  I  know  thou'rt  Alighieri's  son  .  .  . 
Thou  hast  taught  us  a  fair  fashion,  sooth  to  say, — 
That  whoso  lays  a  stick  well  to  thy  back 
Thy  comrade  and  thy  brother  he  shall  be  .  .  . 

And  again  Dante  answers  : 

To  hear  the  unlucky  wife  of  Bicci  cough, 

(Bicci, — Forese  as  he's  called,  you  know — ) 
You'd  fancy  she  had  wintered,  sure  enough, 

Where  icebergs  rear  themselves  in  constant  snow ; 
And,  Lord !  if  in  mid-August  it  is  so, 

How  in  the  frozen  months  must  she  come  off  ? 
To  wear  her  socks  abed  avails  not — no, 

Nor  quilting  from  Cortona,  warm  and  tough. 
Her  cough,  her  cold,  and  all  her  other  ills, 

Do  not  afflict  her  through  the  rheum  of  age, 
But  through  some  want  within  her  nest,  poor  spouse  ! 
This  grief,  with  other  griefs,  her  mother  feels, 

Who  says,  "  Without  much  trouble,  I'll  engage, 
She  might  have  married  in  Count  Guido's  house  !  " 

(Rossetti.) 

That  certainly  was  not  written  in  a  commendable  style. 
Yet  he  always  was  sharp  and  irritable,  and  in  jest  as  well 
as  in  earnest  the  men  of  those  times  were  ruder  than  we 
care  to  be  to-day.  Thus  the  two  men  for  once  may  have 
given  a  loose  rein  to  their  jesting  mood  without  really  being 
in  earnest  in  what  they  proffered,  nor  desiring  it  to  be 
believed.  Every  man  may  go  too  far  sometimes — perhaps 
in  a  drunken  mood — and  it  does  but  complete,  not  abase 
Dante's  portrait  if  he  for  once  suffered  his  robe  to  trail 
in  the  mud.  We  know  nothing  more  about  this  episode, 
nor  how  long  it  lasted,  nor  exactly  what  he  did :  neither 
can  we  determine  the  date  with  any  degree  of  certainty. 

Another  step  into  the  common  life  of  ordinary  men  was 
his  marriage,  which  occurred  about  the  year  1295,  that  is, 


238  DANTE  AND   HIS   TIME 

about  his  thirtieth  year.  His  wife  was  Gemma  Donati, 
the  daughter  of  Manetto,  a  kinswoman  of  Corso  Donati, 
of  the  most  powerful  baronial  family  of  Florence.  Whether 
this  marriage  was  a  love-match,  or,  as  is  more  probable, 
a  marriage  of  convention,  concluded  at  the  request  of  his 
family,  or  maybe  from  political  motives,  is  not  known  to 
us.  At  any  rate,  this  marriage  into  the  very  first  family  of 
Florence  proves  the  high  social  rank  which  he  either  held 
by  birth  or  had  won  by  his  merit.  The  question  whether 
Dante  was  happy  in  his  married  life  or  not  is  a  controversy 
as  old  as  Dantology.  Again,  there  is  but  one  answer  to 
it :  we  do  not  know.  Boccaccio,  who  pleases  himself  in 
reviling  the  female  sex,  and  likes  to  warn  men,  particularly 
great  men,  from  marrying,  on  this  occasion,  too,  discusses 
largely  and  loosely  what  disadvantages  spring  from  mar- 
riage for  all  men,  and  especially  for  a  poet ;  how  it  disturbs 
him  in  his  work  and  many  things  more.  At  the  end  he 
says:  "  Whether  'all'  this  was  the  case  in  Dante's 
marriage  or  not  I  will  not  venture  to  affirm,  because  I  do 
not  know  it.  Yet  it  is  true  that  for  this  reason,  or  what- 
ever reason  else,  he  once  separated  never  would  return 
where  she  was,  nor  did  he  ever  suffer  her  to  come  to  him, 
though  she  had  borne  him  several  children."  The  known 
untrustworthiness  of  Boccaccio  taken  into  consideration,  it 
may  have  been  something  like  this.  Dante  certainly  was 
not  a  man  who  could  easily  be  happy  in  marriage,  nor  was 
he  a  man  with  whom  it  was  easy  to  live,  especially  if  he 
did  not  love,  and  that  does  not  seem  to  have  been  the 
case.  He  never,  in  all  his  writings,  mentions  his  wife,  or 
even  so  much  as  alludes  to  her.  She  had  borne  him  at 
least  four  children.  Of  his  daughter  Antonia  we  know 
nothing  more  than  that  she  existed.  Of  a  second  daughter 
it  is  said  in  a  record  that  the  Brethren  of  the  Blessed  Virgin 


DANTE   AND   FLORENCE  239 

of  "  Or  San  Michele  "  gave  ten  gold  florins  to  Giovanni  di 
Boccaccio  that  he  might  bring  them  to  sister  Beatrice, 
daughter  of  the  late  Dante  Alighieri,  a  nun  in  the  convent 
of  Santo  Stefano  dell'  Uliva  in  Ravenna."  That  is  all 
we  know  about  her.  One  of  his  sons,  Pietro,  was  a  lawyer 
in  Verona,  another  son,  called  Jacopo,  is  reported  to  have 
lived  in  Florence.  To  both  are  ascribed  commentaries  on 
their  father's  works.  A  descendant  of  Pietro's,  Ginevra 
Alighieri,  in  the  sixteenth  century,  married  a  Count 
Serego ;  from  her  the  present  Counts  of  Serego-Alighieri 
are  descended. 

From  the  fact  that  Dante  in  this  time  contracted  such 
enormous  debts  that  many  years  later  the  family  saw 
itself  constrained  to  sell  estates  to  pay  them,  it  becomes 
evident  that  his  financial  situation  was  not  brilliant,  unless, 
of  course,  the  money  was  needed  and  spent  for  political 
purposes,  for  Dante  was  soon  very  active  in  political  life. 
Like  every  man  of  good  family  who  after  the  year  1282 
wanted  to  be  in  office,  he  was  forced  to  become  a  common 
citizen  and  enter  a  guild.  He  caused  himself  to  be 
inscribed — we  know  not  why — in  the  guild  of  physicians 
and  pharmacists,  in  the  official  registers  of  which  his  name 
may  still  be  read.  He  seems  to  have  soon  played  an 
important  part.  He  several  times  was  a  member  of  the 
Council  of  the  Hundred.  He  once  or  twice  represented 
the  republic  as  ambassador ;  *  he  became  the  personal 
friend  of  the  young  King  of  Naples,  who  was  in  Florence 
about  the  year  1 290 ;  and  finally,  in  the  fatal  year  1 300, 
was  elected  Prior,  and  so  became  a  member  of  the  Govern- 

*  In  the  town-hall  of  the  many-towered  little  town  San  Gimignano, 
which  to  this  day  is  a  typical  picture  of  a  mediaeval  Tuscan  town,  he, 
in  the  name  of  the  Florentine  Government,  moved  the  annual  renewal 
of  the  Guelf  League. 


240  DANTE  AND   HIS  TIME 

ment.  "  This  unhappy  Priorate,"  he  once  said,  "  was  the 
cause  of  all  my  misfortune." 

The  mutual  hatred  of  the  rival  parties  in  Florence,  the 
Whites  and  the  Blacks,  had  risen  to  its  highest  pitch  when 
the  notable  and  fatal  year  1 300  came.  Wherever  members 
of  both  parties  met,  insults  and  quarrels  were  the  conse- 
quence. At  the  burial  of  a  lady  of  the  Frescobaldi  family 
a  man's  movement,  that  had  been  misunderstood,  had 
caused  bloodshed.  The  Donati  had  been  the  aggressors. 
A  few  days  later,  Guido  Cavalcanti,  riding  through  the 
streets  with  a  small  party  of  other  young  men,  chanced  to 
meet  Corso  on  the  way  with  his  son  Simone  and  others, 
and  in  sudden  anger  spurred  his  horse  directly  against 
him,  and  people  asserted  that  in  riding  up  to  him  he  threw 
his  lance  or  his  dagger  at  the  Donati.  Corso,  Simone  and 
Cecchino  de'  Bardi  instantly  pursued  him  with  drawn 
swords  and  threw  stones  at  him.  From  the  windows,  too, 
stones  were  thrown,  but  though  wounded  in  the  hand  he 
managed  to  escape.  One  should  read  the  vivid  and 
dramatic  narrative  of  Dino  Compagni,  how  the  events 
went  on  their  threatening  course,  with  gossip,  hate  and 
rude  insults,  as  they  will  do  in  a  small  excitable  town ; 
"  more  damage  was  done  in  Florence  by  falsely  reported 
words  than  by  the  points  of  the  swords."  Still  the  Whites 
were  in  power,  and  the  government  was  in  their  hands  in 
Florence  as  well  as  in  Pistoja,  but  their  leaders  were  slack 
and  irresolute,  while  their  adversaries  were  ready  to  do 
their  worst. 

In  the  year  1 300,  while  Dante  was  one  of  the  Priors, 
they  made  an  attempt  to  ensure  peace  by  banishing  the 
most  unruly  chiefs  of  both  parties.  Among  the  exiled 
Blacks  was  Corso  Donati,  while  Dante,  with  his  severe 
sense  of  justice,  had  suffered  his   friend  Cavalcanti  to  be 


DANTE   AND   FLORENCE  241 

confined  at  Sarzana,  where  he  fell  ill  from  the  unhealthy 
climate  and  died  on  his  return  to  Florence  two  months 
later.*  Everybody  said  that  peace  would  have  been  main- 
tained had  not  Pope  Boniface  meddled  with  the  affairs  of 
Florence.  This  remarkable  man  played  such  a  part  in 
Dante's  life  and  works,  and  again  the  events  of  his  life  are 
of  such  dramatic  interest,  the  time  of  his  pontificate  indi- 
cates such  a  signal  change  in  the  world's  history,  that  we/ 
must  pay  closer  attention  to  him. 

When  Nicolas  IV.  died  in  the  year  1292  there 
anarchy  in  Rome,  and  in  the  conclave  the  cardinals  could 
not  agree  on  their  election ;  months  passed  in  vain,  until 
a  sudden  word  of  Cardinal  Latino  became  decisive.  On 
the  Morrone,  a  mountain  in  Campagna,  there  lived  a 
hermit  called  Peter,  a  peasant's  son  from  the  Abruzzi, 
who  belonged  to  the  Franciscans  of  the  Severe  Obser- 
vance, and  was  said  to  work  miracles.  It  was  truly 
mediaeval  that,  as  soon  as  Latino  pronounced  the  name,  all 
these  false,  violent  and  worldly  men,  suddenly  seized  by 
religious  inspiration,  chose  this  man  to  be  Pope  !  They 
went  out  to  fetch  him  in  triumph,  accompanied  by  great 
masses  of  people.  They  found  him  in  a  little  hut  with 
railed  windows,  a  pale  man  with  unkempt  beard  and  hair, 
emaciated  by  fasting,  his  eyes  red  with  weeping,  clothed 
in  a  hairy  sackcloth.  They  uncovered  before  him  and  fell 
upon  their  knees ;  he  instantly  did  the  same.  On  their 
telling  him  that  he  had  been  elected  Pope  he  ran  away, 
believing  they  wanted  to  mock  him ;  but  the  brethren  of 
his  Order  seeing  in  his  election  a  sign  of  Divine  Grace  and 
an  event  in  their  favour,  persuaded   him  to  accept  the 

*  There  he  composed  the  beautiful  ballad  which  begins : 
Because  I  think  not  ever  to  return, 
Ballad,  to  Tuscany  .  .  . 


242  DANTE  AND   HIS  TIME 

office,  and  on  August  24,  1294,  he  entered  Apulia  riding 
on  an  ass,  led  by  the  kings  of  Hungary  and  Naples,  the 
people,  the  barons,  the  clergy,  two  hundred  thousand  men 
in  all  flocking  together  and  accompanying  him,  crying 
"  Hosanna."  There  was  general  exultation  and  great 
jubilee  ;  the  old  simple  times  seemed  restored  to  mankind 
and  a  true  Vicar  of  Christ  to  fill  his  place.  But  the  old 
simple  times  were  past.  This  man,  who  as  Pope  called 
himself  Celestine  V.,  was  not  fit  for  governing  the  troubled 
world.  He  had  no  idea  what  to  do,  he  was  unable  to 
refuse  any  demand  that  was  put  to  him ;  he  got  so  shy 
and  bewildered  by  all  the  pomp  and  all  the  trouble  around 
him  that  he  hid  himself  in  a  grotto  of  the  papal  palace, 
"as  the  wild  pheasant  hides  its  head,"  a  biographer  of 
him  says. 

And  now  Cardinal  Cajetano  empowered  himself  of  the 
weak  and  bewildered  man.  He  became  his  adviser  and 
absolute  master,  making  him  decree  what  he,  Cajetano, 
thought  good,  and  governing  through  him*  Finally,  with 
the  silent  approval  of  King  Charles  II.  of  Naples,,  he  made 
him  sign  a  decree  in  which  Celestine  declared  himself 
incapable  and  renounced  his  dignity*  On  December  24 
in  the  same  year,  Cajetano,  the  son  of  Loffredo,  ancestor 
of  the  present  Dukes  Gaetani  of  Sermoneta,  entered  Rome 
as  Pope  Boniface  VIII.,  riding  on  a  snow-white  horse, 
again  led  by  two  kings,  followed  by  a  pompous  train  of 
barons,  knights  ancl  warriors,  and  at  the  banquet  of  the 
coronation  he  sat  alone  at  his  table,  all  the  cardinals  and 
kings  after  them  sitting  at  another  table  below  him.  This 
was  the  "  high-minded  sinner,"  as  a  contemporary  calls 
him,  a  man  learned,  eloquent,  full  of  dignity,  of  handsome, 
regal,  commanding  appearance,  haughty  and  irascible, 
with  the  nature  of  a  despot,  not  of  a  priest,  and  withal 


DANTE  AND   FLORENCE  243 

one  of  the  best  hated  men  known  in  history.  His  un- 
happy predecessor,  Celestine,  fled  through  Italy,  but 
Boniface  ordered  him  to  be  pursued.  He  was  taken  in 
Dalmatia  and  kept  a  close  prisoner  in  a  cell  of  the  papal 
palace  until  he  died.  The  manner  of  his  death  was  uncer- 
tain, and  many  openly  hinted  at  his  having  been  poisoned 
by  order  of  the  new  Pope,  who,  as  long  as  his  reign  lasted, 
was  attacked  by  the  severe  Franciscans  with  bitterest 
enmity.  His  reign  was  the  culminating-point  of  Church 
power — the  topmost  height  reached  immediately  before  the 
fall.  The  empire  lay  prostrate.  To  the  elected  Emperor, 
Albert  of  Hapsburg,  who  asked  for  the  Pope's  confirma- 
tion, Boniface  replied,  "  Ego  sum  imperator."  To  enhance 
the  splendour  of  his  Court  he  gave  princely  rank  and  the 
purple  to  the  cardinals.  He  excommunicated  the  Colonna 
and  made  furious  war  against  them,  enriching  his  own 
family  with  their  estates.  Twice  he  ordered  the  town  of 
Palestrina,  a  fief  of  the  Colonna,  to  be  burned  and  left  in 
ashes.  Sciarra  Colonna  was  made  prisoner  and  sent  to 
the  galleys.  In  his  discord  with  Philip  the  Fair  of  France 
he  issued  the  famous  Bull,  "  Unam  sanctam,"  that  begins 
with  the  words :  "  We  remind  thee  that  to  the  Roman 
priest  every  human  creature  is  subject."" 

Philip  ordered  the  Bull  to  be  burned.  On  December  15 
the  Pope  in  Anagni  took  the  expurgatory  oath  in  the  pre- 
sence of  the  cardinals.  He  was  going  to  excommunicate 
and  depose  Philip  on  the  18th.  But  the  night  before, 
William  of  Nogaret,  Sciarra  Colonna,  and  other  conspira- 
tors entered  the  town  with  some  hundred  men  under  the 
cry  of  "Morte  al  papa!  Evviva  Francia!"  The  papal 
palace  was  besieged  during  nine  hours ;  the  Pope  rejected 
all  conditions;  the  cathedral  took  fire,  and  the  palace 
finally  was  stormed.     The  Count  of  Fundi  and  Francesco 


244  DANTE   AND    HIS   TIME 

Gaetano  fled,  and  over  the  corpse  of  a  bishop  the  con- 
spirators entered  the  hall.  Boniface  sat  on  his  throne, 
the  tiara  on  his  head.  A  moment  they  stood  awed  in 
silence,  then  they  outraged  him.  Sciarra  Colonna  shook 
him  by  the  arm  and  threatened  him  with  his  drawn  sword. 
But  three  days  and  nights  the  inflexible  old  man — he  was 
eighty-six — sat  on  the  throne  in  silence,  giving  no  answer 
and  taking  no  nourishment,  until  he  was  delivered  on  the 
fourth  day  by  the  Cardinal  Fiesco  and  the  people,  terrified 
by  sudden  remorse.  He  continued  to  live  for  thirty-five 
days,  but  he  was  mad.  Whosoever  approached  him  he 
fancied  to  be  a  foe  who  wanted  to  take  him  prisoner. 
Dante,  who  was  a  good  hater,  and  who  hated  him  as  the 
cause  of  his  own  misfortune,  called  him  the  "  great  priest." 
"  He  bound  the  Pope  to  the  car  of  his  wrath,  and  nine 
times  he  dragged  him  through  the  pit  of  hell,"  says  Tosti. 
Nine  times  Boniface  is  mentioned  in  the  "  Commedia,"  not 
in  a  pleasant  way.  "Art  thou  here  already,  Boniface?" 
asks  his  predecessor,  Nicolas  Orsini,  who  with  burning  feet 
and  head  downwards  stands  in  his  hole  when  Dante 
passes.  And  yet  Dante  was  deeply  indignant  at  that  pro- 
fanation of  the  highest  priestly  office  even  in  his  enemy's 
person. 

I  in  Alagna  see  the  fltur-de-lys. 
Christ,  in  His  Vicar,  captive  to  the  foe. 

Him  once  again  as  mocked  and  scorned  I  see, 
I  see  once  more  the  vinegar  and  gall, 

And  slain  between  new  robbers  hangeth  He. 

He  undoubtedly  had  seen  the  Pope  and  had  known  him 
personally.  He  most  probably  had  been  in  Rome  in  the 
year  of  the  jubilee  in  1300,  and  had  seen  the  masses  of 
pilgrims  thronging  the  bridge  before  the  castle  of  St. 
Angelo  at  the  time  when  Boniface  saw  his  power  on  the. 


DANTE  AND  FLORENCE  245 

summit.  Dino  Compagni,  Boccaccio  and  others,  tell  that 
he  had  been  Ambassador  of  Florence  at  Rome,  but  many 
causes  make  this  appear  improbable  and  even  impossible. 
At  any  rate,  he  from  the  beginning  most  decidedly 
opposed  the  Pope,  who  claimed  Tuscany  as  the  property 
of  the  See  of  Rome,  as  forming  part  of  the  inheritance  of 
the  Countess  Matilda,  and  made  use  of  every  occasion  to 
meddle  in  Florentine  affairs.  He  had  done  so  repeatedly, 
and  in  the  year  1300  he  again  sent  the  Cardinal  Matthew 
of  Acquasparta  to  Florence  to  M  make  peace  among  the 
parties;  but,  being  a  haughty  and  unskilful  man,  the 
Cardinal  had  only  succeeded  in  making  matters  worse. 
Among  other  things,  he  had  asked  the  republic  to  send  the 
Pope  an  auxiliary  troop  of  a  hundred  men  for  his  wars 
with  the  Colonna,  and  Dante  in  the  Council  of  the  Hundred 
had  given  his  famous  vote  of  Nihil  fiat. 

The  Pope,  by  secret  understanding  with  the  Blacks, 
sent  the  French  prince,  Charles  of  Valois,  as  "  pacifi- 
cator "  to  Florence.  He  came  with  the  "  lance  of  Judas," 
Dante  says.  With  a  train  of  unarmed  followers  he 
entered  Florence  on  All  Souls  Day  1301.  Some  days 
before  the  alarmed  Priors  had  sent  ambassadors  to  meet 
him  at  Poggibonsi,  to  whom  in  a  sealed  letter  he  pledged 
himself  not  to  exercise  any  sovereign  rights  in  Florence, 
nor  to  change  any  of  the  laws.  But  in  Florence  suspicion 
and  trouble  daily  increased — and  Charles'  behaviour  was 
not  qualified  to  quiet  it — ever  more  armed  men  assembled 
around  him ;  the  Government  was  at  a  I03S  what  to  do,  for 
their  friends  kept  counsel,  but  could  not  decide  on  any 
resolute  deed.  "  Their  hearts  failed,"  cries  Dino,  who 
himself  was  Prior  in  those  days,  and  he  adds,  "  Never 
would  I  have  believed  that  so  great  a  lord  and  one  of  the 
royal  house  of  France,  ever  could  break  his  word  and 


246  DANTE  AND   HIS  TIME 

oath."     Charles  began  to  claim  great  sums  of  money,  his 
armed  men  occupied  the  doors  of  the  city,  Corso  Donati 
entered  it  on  horseback  with  numerous  friends,  and  terror 
began  to  rule  in  Florence.     In  vain  the  great  bell  was 
rung,  nobody  appeared  to  obey  the  call,  and  the  Priors 
renounced   their   office.     "Many   shameful  crimes   were 
perpetrated,"  Dino  writes,  "  on  women  and  maids,  houses 
were  plundered,  the  weak  were  bereft  of  their  goods,  or 
they  hunted  them  out  of  the  town.      Many  did  whatever 
they  pleased,   the  accused   were  forced  to  confess,  and 
there  was  no    rescue."     "A  noble   city  perishes    under 
thee  ! "  a  clergyman  of  Charles'  suite  said.     The  prince 
answered,  "  Can  it  be  true  ?     I  did  not  know  it."     Messer 
Cante  de'  Gabrielli,  from  Agubbio,  was  made  podesta,  a 
man  who  has   become   immortal  because,  among  many 
other  sentences,  by  which  hundreds  of  the  White  were 
banished   and   outlawed,  he   issued   the   decree   against 
Dante  which   to  this  day  may  be  read  in  the  so-called 
"Libro  del  Chiodo"  in  the  Archive  of  Florence.     It  is 
written  in    a   most   barbarous  Latin,    and    dated    from 
January    2J}    1301.*     Dante   and    four  others  are  con- 
demned for  peculation,  fraud,  extortion,  bribery,  rebellion 
against  the  Pope  and  Charles,  breach  of  peace,  and  the 
like;  no  further  details  are  given;  as  proof  public  fame  is 
alleged,  and   "  Having   been    regularly  summoned  by  a 
herald  and  failing  to  appear,  and  having  been  condemned 
to  fines  of  5000  gold  florins  each  for  contempt  of  court, 
they  are  considered    as    confessing,  and  therefore  con- 
demned to  return  all  the  money  unjustly  extorted,  failing 
which  all  their  possessions    should    be   confiscated   and 
ruined.     Furtnermore,    they    should    be    banished   from 

*  Readers  are  not  to  forget  that  then  the  New  Year  formerly  began 
in  Florence  and  elsewhere  on  March  25. 


DANTE   AND    FLORENCE  247 

Tuscany  for  the  space  of  two  years,  and  Palmieri  degli 
Altoviti,  Dante,  Lippo  Becchi  and  Orlanduccio  Orlandi  in- 
scribed in  the  public  statutes  as  forgers  and  defrauders 
for  perpetual  memory,  and  excluded  for  ever  from  all  civil 
honours." 

On  March  10,  1302,  the  sentence  was  confirmed  and 
extended  to  ten  other  Florentine  citizens,  and  having 
failed  to  appear  in  Court,  all  the  accused  in  it  were  de- 
clared outlaws  and  exiles  in  perpetuity,  and  if  ever  one  01 
them  should  be  caught  on  Florentine  soil  he  should  be 
burned  alive. 

Most  of  the  chiefs  of  the  White  party  had  left  the  city 
at  Christmas,  Dante  probably  among  them.  Of  course 
none  had  appeared  to  justify  himself,  as  the  consequence 
would  have  been  immediate  death.  Not  a  word  is  to  be 
said  on  Dante's  guilt.  Energetic,  resolute,  regardless  of 
hate  and  danger  as  he  was,  he  probably  had  incurred  the 
special  animosity  of  the  victorious  Blacks.  Then  his  self- 
conscious  pride  seems  to  have  made  many  men  his 
enemies.  Boccaccio  tells  that  once,  when  the  question 
arose  who  had  to  be  appointed  ambassador  to  Rome, 
Dante  was  reported  to  have  said :  "  If  I  remain,  who 
goes  ;  and  if  I  go,  who  remains  ?  "  And  he  adds  :  "  This 
word  is  said  to  have  had  bad  consequences  for  him." 

From  this  time  he  remained  in  exile  until  his  death, 
and  until  his  death  was  tormented  by  insatiable  longing 
to  return  to  Florence.  As  in  ancient  Rome  and  in  the 
Greek  cities,  banishment  in  the  Italian  republics  was  con- 
sidered worse  than  death  ;  the  exile  was  a  typical  appari- 
tion in  mediaeval  Italy  as  in  old  Grecee.  Out  of  Florence 
he  never  could  be  happy ;  now  in  love,  now  in  glowing 
anger  and  hatred  he  expressed  his  ardent  longing  to 
return,  in  verses  "  hearing  which  "  Burckhardt  says,  "  the 


248  DANTE  AND   HIS  TIME 

heart  of  every  Florentine  could  not  but  tremble."  All  his 
poetry  is  full  of  this.  First  he  begged  to  be  allowed  to 
return.  One  letter  begins  thus :  "  Popule  mee,  quid  feci 
tibi  ?  "  ("  My  people,  what  have  I  done  thee  ?  ")  All  his 
despair  lies  in  those  few  words,  which  alone  remain  of  the 
letter. 

From  all  the  powers  he  expected  a  chance  of  returning 
— from  a  revolution  in  Florence,  from  a  victory  of  the 
banished  party,  from  the  princes  who  were  his  friends, 
from  the  Roman  Emperor,  and  at  last  from  his  great 
poem.  There  is  almost  no  canto  in  which  he  does  not 
speak  of  his  ungrateful  country.  In  the  twenty-sixth 
canto  of  Hell  he  addresses  her : 

Rejoice,  O  Florence,  since  so  great  thy  fame, 

That  over  sea  and  land  thy  wings  are  spread, 
And  through  the  depths  of  Hell  resounds  thy  name. 

Five  such  I  found  among  the  scoundrel  dead, 

Thy  citizens,  whence  shame  my  soul  doth  fill, 
Nor  do  they  with  much  honour  crown  thy  head. 

Still  more  famous  are  the  verses  at  the  close  of  the  sixth 
canto  of  Purgatory,  that  follow  aftejr  the  grand  address  to 
the  slave,  Italy : 

Thou,  O  my  Florence,  mayst  be  well  content 

With  this  digression  which  is  nought  to  thee, 
Thanks  to  thy  people,  wise  in  argument. 

Many  with  justice  in  their  hearts  we  see 

Linger,  lest  unadvised  they  draw  the  bow ; 
Thy  people  hath  it  on  the  tongue's  tip  free. 

Many  to  bear  the  common  charge  are  slow  ; 

But  thy  good  anxious  people,  though  none  call, 
Are  heard  to  cry,  "  The  yoke  I'll  undergo." 


DANTE   AND   FLORENCE  249 

Rejoice  thee  now,  thou  hast  the  wherewithal ; 

Rich  art  thou,  thine  is  peace,  and  thou  art  wise  ! 
If  true  my  words,  facts  will  not  hide  at  all. 

Athens  and  Lacedsmon,  whence  did  rise 

The  laws  of  old,  on  civil  order  bent, 
Took  but  short  step  to  where  life's  true  good  lies. 

Compared  with  thee,  so  subtly  provident 

Of  wise  reforms,  that,  half  November  gone, 
Nought  lingers  that  was  for  October  meant. 

How  often  in  the  time  to  memory  known, 

Hast  thou  changed  laws,  coins,  polity  and  right, 
And  altered  all  thy  members  one  by  one ! 

And  if  thou  well  reflect,  and  see  the  light, 
Thou  shalt  behold  thyself  as  woman  sick, 

Who  on  her  pillow  finds  no  rest  at  night, 
And  seeks  to  ease  her  pain  by  turning  quick. 

(Plumptre.) 


CHAPTER   V 

DANTE    IN    EXILE 

It  is  well  known  how  embittering  even  a  successful 
political  life  is,  how  the  few  men  of  pure  intention  are 
made  to  hate  and  despise  mankind  by  the  unavoidable 
co-operation  with  others,  who  are  moved  by  ambition 
only  or  desire  of  profit !  One  may  imagine  how  much  of 
this  Dante  must  have  experienced  and  how  much  more 
in  exile,  when  people  no  longer  had  to  pay  regard  to  him 
— from  what  new  and  repulsive  sides  he  must  have 
learned  to  know  them. 

In  the  beginning  he  remained  near  Florence,  in  tv«* 
company  of  other  gentlemen  of  the  White  party,  who  hau 
fraternised  with  the  long-banished  Ghibellines,  and  maac 
several  attempts,  all  unsuccessful,  to  recover  Florence  by 
force  of  arms.  We  do  not  know  what  part  Dante  took 
in  those  enterprises.  He  had  become  a  proud,  severe, 
not  very  amiable  man,  one  who,  while  feeling  the  deepest 
reverence  for  every  man  of  true  worth,  yet  knew  his  own 
worth  compared  to  that  of  others,  and  was  not  inclined 
to  pardon  any  want  of  respect  towards  himself,  and  pro- 
bably did  not  easily  forgive  those  who  did  not  follow  his 
advice.  The  consequence  was  that  he  soon  left  his 
fellow  exiles  in  bitter  indignation  and  went  his  own  way. 
In  Paradise  he  makes  his  ancestor  predict 


DANTE  IN  EXILE  251 

And  that  which  most  upon  thy  back  shall  weigh 

Will  be  the  mad  and  evil  company 
Which  in  that  dreary  vale  with  thee  shall  stay ; 

For  they  ungrateful,  impious,  base  to  thee 
Shall  prove ;  yet  but  a  little  while  attend, 
And  they,  not  thou,  shall  blush  for  infamy. 

And  of  that  brute  stupidity  their  end 

Shall  furnish  proof,  and  well  with  thee  'twill  fare. 
Alone,  a  party  for  thyself  to  wend 

Thy  lonely  path  .  .  . 


With  such  words  of  boundless  pride  he  severed  the 
tie  that  had  bound  him  to  the  others.  Like  almost  all 
men  of  surpassing  greatness,  Dante  stood  alone.  One 
generation  later  all  parties  strove  to  claim  him  as  their 
own. 

He- went  to  Verona,  where  he  was  twice  the  guest  of 
the  princes  of  that  town ;  first,  before  1 304,  of  Barto- 
lommeo  della  Scala,  and  probably  afterwards  at  the 
Court  of  Can  Grande.  To  this  day,  in  the  town  through 
which  the  Adige  rolls  its  waters  in  a  wide  curve  there 
stand,  on  the  wonderful  little  Piazza  de'  Signori,  the 
remnants  of  the  old  palace,  with  its  tower  and  battle- 
ments, and  a  tablet  commemorating  him  who  was  once 
here  as  guest.  In  the  year  1306  he  certainly  was  in 
Lunigiana  with  one  of  the  Marquises  of  Malaspina.  It 
is  further  certain  that  for  a  time  he  sojourned  in  Padua, 
in  Bologna,  and  in  Paris.  He  was  probably  a  student  at 
the  universities  of  these  towns,  he  may  even  have  lectured 
there  himself.  But  he  never  attained  the  rank  of  a 
regular  professor.  And  he  was  probably  never  well  to 
do,  whether  he  was  a  teacher  or  the  guest  and  protege  of 
princes.     His  ancestor  Cacciaguida  tells  him  in  Paradise  : 


252  DANTE  AND   HIS  TIME 

How  salt  that  bread  doth  taste  thou  then  shalt  know 

That  others  give  thee,  and  how  hard  the  way 
Or  up  or  down  another's  stairs  to  go. 

In  the  "Banquet,"  in  the  third  chapter  of  the  first 
treatise  he  says :  "  Since  it  pleased  the  citizens  of  that 
fairest  and  most  renowned  daughter  of  Rome — Florence 
— to  expel  me  from  her  dear  lap,  in  which  I  was  born  and 
reared  until  the  culmination-point  of  my  life,  and  in  which 
I  desire  with  all  my  heart  to  repose  my  weary  soul  in 
peace  with  her  and  to  conclude  the  time  that  is  conceded 
to  me — since  that  moment  I  have  wandered  as  a  pilgrim 
and  almost  as  a  beggar  through  almost  all  the  regions 
where  this  our  language  is  spoken.  And  against  my 
will  I  have  displayed  the  wounds  of  fate  with  which 
people  are  wont  unjustly  to  reproach  the  wounded  him- 
self. Verily,  I  have  been  a  vessel  without  a  sail  and 
without  a  rudder,  erring  through  many  ports  and  bays 
and  shores,  chased  by  the  dry  wind  that  blows  from 
painful  poverty,  I  have  appeared  inconsiderable  in  the 
eyes  of  many  men  who,  perhaps,  moved  by  some  rumour, 
had  fancied  me  to  be  quite  different,  and  in  whose  eyes 
not  only  my  person  lost  in  value  but  my  works  also,  those 
which  are  already  completed  as  well  as  those  which  still 
are  to  be  so?' 

Dante's  external  appearance  seems  to  have  been  by  no 
means  imposing.  Boccaccio,  who  had  seen  him  when  a 
child,  says  of  him  :  "  He  was  small  and  insignificant- 
looking,  rather  stooping,  and  wore  a  dark  and  heavy 
beard."  Nothing  is  said  in  those  words  about  Dante's 
face,  nor  do  they  correspond  to  the  well-known  ex- 
pressive countenance.  We  would  fain  believe  that  the 
portraits  which  are  confirmed  and  sanctioned  by  old 
traditions,  and  all  show  the  same  characteristic  lines,  are 


DANTE  IN   EXILE  253 

really  Dante's.  And  though  the  proofs  are  not  perfectly 
stringent  and  incontestable,  it  is  at  least  highly  probable 
that  the  portraits  are  genuine.*  If  they  were  not  so,  if 
the  world  had  half-unconsciously  invented  such  a  form, 
mythical  as  it  then  would  be,  it  would  only  the  more 
prove  the  greatness  of  the  man  for  whose  portrait  the 
artistic  imagination  of  mankind  has  created  this  almost 
terrible  head.  Its  expression  is  of  an  intensity  which 
Mr.  W.  H.  Dircks,  applying  to  Thoreau,  designates  simply 
as  M  Dantesque,"  because  it  cannot  be  compared  to  any- 
thing but  to  itself.  Two  types  of  the  same  head  are 
extant :  one  youthful,  soft,  full  of  refinement  and  yet  of 
a  hidden  severity,  in  Giotto's  fresco  in  the  chapel  of  the 
Bargello  in  Florence,!  the  portrait  with  the  rose ;  then  the 
portraits  of  the  exiled  Dante,  with  the  hollow  cheeks,  the 
large  forehead  the  energetic  hooked  chin,  and  especially 
the  eye 

That,  deep  and  flaming,  pierces  like  a  sharp 
Inexorable  dagger  that  obeys 
The  ruthless  hand. 

(Vrchlicky.) 

Both  types  are  essentially  the  same.  One  is  the  Dante 
of  the  "  Vita  Nuova,"  the  other  he  of  the  "  Divine  Comedy." 
There  is  the  same  difference  between  the  two  faces  that 
there  is  between  the  two  works.  The  hard  and  stormy 
experiences  of  the  intervening  period  explain  the  differ- 

*  VideF.  X.  Kraus  in  the  chapter  on  "Dante's  korperliche  Ers- 
cheinung,  seine  Bildnisse  "  ("  Dante,  sein  Leben  und  sein  Werk,  sein 
Verhaltnis  zu  Kunst  und  Politik,"  Berlin:  Grote'sche  Verlags-Buch- 
handlung,  1897). 

f  It  was  discovered  on  July  20,  1840,  and  was  marred  in  the  attempt 
to  restore  it.  The  frontispiece  reproduces  it  as  it  was  before  the  restor- 
ation. 


254  DANTE   AND   HIS   TIME 

ence ;  the  natural  development  of  the  man  leads  from  one 
to  the  other. 

He  was  proud  and  self-conscious  in  his  behaviour,  yet 
of  the  finest  manners,  but  not  adapted  to  society ;  of  an 
unyielding  temper,  often  abstracted  and  lost  in  thought. 

Where  he  had  been  in  all  those  years,  who  knows  ? 
And  what  scenes  fill  his  imagination  in  those  endless 
wanderings,  when  the  visions  of  the  great  poem  were  in 
his  mind !  Who  is  to  follow  the  flight  of  that  powerful 
and  matchless  fancy  ?  He  never  ended  his  deep  and  com- 
prehensive studies — a  self-taught  man,  who  thought  him- 
self a  dilettante,  when  his  powerful  mind,  that  knew  how 
to  make  more  of  a  few  crumbs  than  others  of  the  science 
of  a  thousand  books,  had  long  surpassed  all  professional 
scholars  and  masters  of  the  school. 

Between  1308  and  131 1  the  "Banquet"  was  written. 
The  "  Convivio  Amoroso,"  as  it  is  called  in  some  early 
editions,  is  no  light  book.  In  the  first  chapter  he  explains 
the  title  and  his  intention  in  writing  it.  He  says  that, 
"though  he  had  not  himself  been  sitting  at  the  blessed  table, 
he  yet  had  sat  at  the  feet  of  those  who  are  gathered  round 
it,  and  had  collected  the  crumbs  that  had  fallen  from  their 
feast."  And  because  of  the  sweetness  which  that  little  had 
afforded  to  him,  he  had  been  moved  to  pity  those  who  had 
not  even  that ;  and  "  as  those  who  have  knowledge  always 
liberally  offer  of  their  good  plenty  to  those  who  are  really 
poor  and  thus  become  as  a  living  source  by  whose  water  is 
quenched  the  natural  thirst,"  so  he,  too,  had  desired  to 
arrange  a  general  banquet,  and  to  offer  them  first  the 
necessary  bread.  The  dishes  of  the  banquet  would  be 
served  in  fourteen  courses.  He  meant  to  write  fourteen 
treatises  commenting  on  so  many  canzoni,  the  allegory  of 
which  he  intended  to  be  explained  in  the  treatises.    By  the 


dX] 


NTE   IN  EXILE  255 

"  bread "  is  understood  the  first  treatise,  in  which  he 
explains  why  he  had  written  Jiis  work  in  Italian,  not  in 
Latin.  That  he  did  so  once  again  makes  evident  his 
splendid  insight,  which  never  shrank  from  going  unusual 
ways.  It  was  not  the  fashion  then  to  write  learned  books 
otherwise  than  in  Latin,  and  many  men  reviled  him  for 
doing  so  and  thought  but  little  of  his  work.  Full  four 
hundred  years  had  to  pass  before  in  Germany  anybody 
thought  of  writing  a  learned  book  in  "Deutsch,"  which 
literally  means  the  "  people's  "  language.  Only  four  trea- 
tises were  completed.  The  second  book  treats  of  the 
several  sciences,  the  third  of  philosophy,  while  in  the  fourth 
is  expounded  a  theory  of  nobility  which  seems  highly  re- 
markable for  the  time  of  its  origin.  The  form,  of  course, 
is  antiquated,  but  the  essence  is  most  modern.  He  tries 
to  prove,  what  to  us  is  self-evident,  that  true  nobility  has 
nothing  to  do  with  birth,  title,  descent,  or  riches,  but  is  based 
on  personal  worth  alone.  "  Not  the  race  makes  a  noble- 
man, but  the  man  makes  a  noble  race.  I  know  that  I 
speak  in  opposition  to  all  the  world."  The  scholastic 
method  adopted  throughout  the  book  renders  it  difficult  to 
read,  yet  it  is  most  interesting,  and  the  beautiful,  simple 
language  in  which  it  is  written,  full  of  noble  harmony, 
gives  it  a  great  charm.  Besides,  there  is  that  passionate 
vehemence  in  it  which  is  always  characteristic  of  Dante. 
All  his  fiery  temper  is  found  in  every  sentence  ;  there  are 
no  dead  passages.  One  feels  how  he  must  have  started  at 
his  desk  in  writing  the  words,  "  What,  you  say  a  horse  is 
noble  because  it  is  good  in  itself,  and  the  same  you  say  of 
a  falcon  or  of  a  pearl ;  and  a  man  should  be  called  noble 
because  his  ancestors  were  so  .  .  .  not  with  words,  with 
knives  must  one  answer  such  a  beastly  notion  !  " 

He  had  more  and  more  become  an  "  intransigeant  "  ;  his 


256  DANTE   AND   HIS  TIME 

terrible  love  of  truth  makes  him  utter  words  in  the  perilous 
fourteenth  century  which  in  the  nineteenth  century  would 
be  impossible  in  almost  any  country.  In  "  Conv."  iv.  6, 
speaking  of  the  princes  of  his  time,  he  exclaims,  M  O  you 
miserable,  who  are  governing  the  world,  O  you  more 
miserable,  who  are  governed  !  beware  you,enemies  of  God, 
beware  of  the  revolution  that  approaches  you  who  are  hold- 
ing in  your  hands  the  rod  of  government  in  Italy !  I  tell 
Carlo  and  you,  Federigo,  kings,  and  you  other  princes 
and  tyrants,  take  care  who  are  your  advisers  ;  mark  how 
often,  on  every  day  the  real  end  of  human  life  is  shown 
to  you  by  those  your  ministers  !  Better  were  it  for  you 
to  fly  low  like  the  swallows  than  like  vultures  to  circle 
high  over  the  vilest  things  ! " 

At  the  same  time  he  wrote  his  thoughtful  book,  M  De 
Vulgari  Eloquentia,"  "of  eloquence  in  the  vernacular 
language."  It  is  the  first  attempt  to  write  a  theory  of 
poetry  in  Italian,  and  not  a  few  far-seeing  ^linguistic  ideas, 
which  long  afterwards  were  developed  by  scientific  phil- 
ology, are  suggested  in  it.  This  work  also  remained  in- 
complete. Both  probably  were  interrupted  by  the  arrival 
of  the  Emperor  Henry  VII.  of  Luxemburg  in  Italy. 

The  old  Guelf  had  become  a  Ghibelline,  expecting  from 
the  Emperor  peace  and  order  for  Italy  and  his  own  return. 
At  this  time  he  probably  wrote  the  book  "  De  Monarchia," 
in  which  he  defended  the  idea  that  the  Emperor  was  the 
ruler  of  the  world,  the  same  idea  for  which  Charlemagne 
and  the  Hohenstaufen  had  fought,  and  which  was  irretriev- 
ably lost. 

In  these  books  there  are  beautiful  passages  and  deep 
thoughts — but  no  original  system  of  philosophy,  as  some 
over-enthusiastic  admirers  of  the  poet  would  have  it. 
His  poetical  conception  of  the  world  was  most  original, 


DANTE   IN   EXILE  257 

but  in  philosophy  he  was  the  disciple  of  others.  And  he 
never  was  a  freethinker  in  a  time  when  many  such  were 
to  be  found.  Through  all  his  life  Dante  was  a  devout 
Catholic;  in  spite  of  his  violent  opposition  to  the  temporal 
government  of  the  Popes  and  the  pernicious  riches  ff  the 
Church,  he  always  felt  the  deepest  reverence  for  the 
Church  herself  as  she  should  have  been,  and  never  for  a 
moment  doubted  the  truth  of  her  doctrines.  Doubt  was 
perhaps  not  foreign  to  him,  but  certainly  not  the  slightest 
trace  of  this  is  to  be  found  in  his  works.  Whatever  Witte 
and  Scartazzini  have  said  against  this  seems  to  me  far 
from  convincing.*  Nowhere  can  I  find  anything  but 
devout  Catholic  faith.  I  am  glad  to  find  this  view  con- 
firmed by  a  learned  work  on  Dante's  "  Geistesgang,"  the 
author  of  which,  Dr.  Franz  Hettinger,  is  a  Catholic 
clergyman.  Beatrice,  who  in  the  "Divine  Comedy " 
stands  for  the  light  of  the  Church,  reproaches  Dante  with 
having  been  faithless  to  her.  Now  Witte  and  Scartazzini 
assert  that  in  saying  this  Beatrice  condemns  Dante's 
devotion  to  philosophy,  for  which,  according  to  them,  he 
expressed  too  high  an  admiration  in  the  **  Banquet,"  valu- 
ing it  even  more  than  faith.  But  no  trace  of  such  an 
over-estimation  is  found  in  the  "  Banquet,"  nor  is  the 
slightest  approach  to  religious  doubt  expressed  anywhere. 
In  the  fourth  chapter  of  the  second  book  the  absolute 
infallibility  of  all  teachings  of  the  Church  is  expressly 
acknowledged. 

If  Dante  ever  doubted,  I  should  say  that  the  only  thing 
he  may  have  doubted  was  God's  justice  on  earth.  It  even 
seems  probable  to  me  that  such  doubts  in  his  soul  were 

*  The  notion  of  the  "Trilogy  "  in  Dante's  works,  which  Witte  was 
the  first  to  establish,  though  it  be  very  clever,  seems  to  me  a  most 
unhappy  idea,     I  hope  to  say  more  on  the  topic  on  another  occasion. 

R 


258  DANTE   AND    HIS  TIME 

the  source  from  which  sprang  his  great  poem,  which  is 
essentially  a  song  of  retribution. 

Yet  I  believe  that  Beatrice's  reproaches  less  concern 
these  doubts  than  moral  aberrations — the  aberrations  in 
the  forest  of  life.  Dante  makes  Beatrice  reproach  him  ; 
that  is  to  say,  Dante  reproaches  himself  with  having 
turned  from  the  ideals  and  noble  aims  of  his  youth  and 
rushed  into  the  always  polluting  whirl  of  the  world. 
We  to-day  are  no  longer  in  a  position  to  tell  what  he 
may  have  exactly  meant.  In  a  literal  sense  it  may  have 
been  his  marriage  and  other  loves,  in  an  allegorical  sense 
many  a  lower  and  more  worldly  aim,  that  made  him 
swerve  from  his  high  path  as  prophet  and  poet. 

There  is  one  point  more  to  be  touched  on  here.  Boc- 
caccio records  a  great  many  love  affairs  of  Dante's  later  life, 
and  other  authors  have  increased  the  number  with  a  fertile 
power  of  invention.  When  this  dull  stuff  had  reached 
its  climax  it  veered  round  to  the  opposite  direction,  and 
Scartazzini,  for  instance,  never  tires  in  his  prudish  en- 
deavour to  defend  Dante  against  any  taint  of  this  kind, 
and  repeats  over  and  over  again  what  a  frigid  and  dry  old 
scholar  Dante  was.  One  is  as  ridiculous  as  the  other. 
We  are  no  longer  so  prudish  and  severe  in  judging  men, 
and  not  so  quick  in  throwing  stones  at  them.  That  Dante 
was  of  a  loving  and  fiery  disposition,  passionate  as  few 
men  ever  were,  is  evident  in  every  line  he  wrote.  That, 
on  the  other  side,  his  character  was  severe  and  pure,  that 
he  certainly  was  no  professional  hero  of  French  novels, 
nor  a  man  of  brutal  sensuality,  is  likewise  evident.  But 
to  deny  passion  to  a  man,  to  unman  him  as  it  were, 
while  one  pretends  to  justify  him,  is  rather  a  strange 
beginning.  In  this  respect  we  need  neither  accuse  nor 
justify    him— we   have    suffered   enough   from    all    the 


DANTE  IN   EXILE  259 

superfluous  nonsense  we  have  had  to  hear  on  the  life  of 
Goethe. 

It  may  be  sufficient  that  Dante  gave  evidence  against 
himself  and  judged  himself  severely.  For  what  else  could 
it  mean  that,  through  all  the  penances  of  Purgatory  Dante 
walks  free  and  unmolested ;  only  through  the  flames,  in 
which  the  sins  of  carnal  lust  are  purged,  he  has  to  pass, 
and  stands  trembling  and  hesitating  until  he  is  admonished 
by  Virgil  that  Beatrice  stands  expectant  on  the  other  side. 
Scartazzini  and  others  affirm  that  all  the  canzoni  of  the 
so-called  second  cycle,  in  which  women  are  praised,  have 
but  an  allegorical  meaning.  Suppose  they  were  right  in 
that,  I  should  still  say  that  a  man  who  borrows  all  his 
similes  from  love  and  in  these  similes  speaks  a  lover's 
language  with  such  a  fire  of  life  that  nobody  will  believe 
them  to  be  mere  allegories — a  man  who  could  write  the 
story  of  Francesca  and  Paolo  must  have  known  woman 
and  loved  well,  and  must  have  devoted  to  them  a  good 
part  of  his  life. 

Yet  we  need  but  glance  at  the  poems  themselves. 
Some  are  quite  cold  and  full  of  learned  definitions — in 
short,  versified  scholastic  tracts;  in  others  the  allegory 
is  evident ;  some  are  of  doubtful  sense ;  but  then  we 
suddenly  are  struck  by  a  canzone  beginning  in  the  follow- 
ing way : 

Fain  in  my  speech  I  would  be  harsh  and  rough 
As  is  in  all  her  acts  that  rock  so  fair  .  .  . 


and  then 


My  heart  doth  tremble  when  I  think  of  her  .  .  . 
For  Death  is  tearing  me  with  Love's  sharp  teeth, 
Prostrate  I  lie — bent  over  me  he  stands, 
The  sword  with  which  Dido  was  slain  in  hands, 
In  vain  I  cry  for  mercy  .  .  . 


26o  DANTE   AND   HIS  TIME 

If  only  those  fair  ringlets  I  could  grasp, 
Which  Love  for  my  undoing  crisps  with  gold, 
Ah  !  how  my  hand  would  revel  in  their  hold : 
Ah  !  if  I  had  those  tresses  in  my  hand 
Which  as  a  rod  and  scourge  to  me  have  grown, 
If  I  could  grasp  them  in  the  hour  of  dawn 
I  should  not  courteous  be  or  gently  gay, 
No — like  a  she-bear  in  her  cruel  play  ! 

Whosoever  can  think  that  this  poem  of  terrible  and 
tormenting  passion  is  addressed  to  the  fair  tresses  of 
philosophy  must  be  a  philosopher  indeed.  It  is  true  that 
mediaeval  mystics  often  borrowed  their  similes  from 
sensual  love,  but  such  passages  have  quite  a  different 
sound,  they  are  clumsier  as  well  as  colder.  One  needs 
but  compare  the  passages  quoted  by  Perez  from  the 
writings  of  the  monks  of  St.  Victor  or  the  sonnet  by 
Jacopone  da  Todi,  "Ciascuno  amante  che  ama  il  Sig- 
nore,"  which,  as  Bartoli  said,  is  written  P  as  it  were,  in 
an  erotic  trance  in  the  words,  the  rhythm  and  the  figures 
of  glowing  sensuality,"  and  every  man  of  a  refined  taste 
will  instantly  feel  how  misplaced  these  unnatural  similes 
of  sensual  passion  in  such  poems  are. 

There  are  some  who  even  believe  they  enhance 
Dante's  fame  by  such  interpretations ;  those  who 
always  fain  would  make  unclean  what  God  has  cleansed. 
As  long  as  the  Creator  deems  love  between  man 
and  woman  the  right  way  to  conserve  mankind,  those 
pious  souls  should  be  a  little  more  modest  in  their 
devotion  and  not  blame  His  ways  with  such  arro- 
gance. 

Then  in  a  sonnet  addressed  by  Dante  to  Cino  da 
Pistoja,  of  unknown  date,  which  almost  could  be  called 
an  erotical  confession  Dante  says ; 


DANTE  IN  EXILE  261 

I  have  with  Love  in  contact  close  been  thrown, 
From  the  ninth  year  the  sun  did  mark  for  me,    • 
And  know  how  he  now  curb,  now  spur  may  be, 

And  how  beneath  him  men  may  smile  and  groan. 

Who  strives  with  him,  with  skill  and  strength  alone, 
Acts  as  he  does  who,  when  the  storm  plays  free, 
Rings  out  a  peal,  as  though  the  vaporous  sea 

And  thunderous  strife  that  music  could  atone. 

Wherefor  within  the  range  of  that  his  bow 
Free  choice  to  act  hath  not  its  freedom  true, 

So  that  our  counsels  vain  dart  to  and  fro. 
Well  with  new  spur  in  flank  may  he  us  prick, 

And  each  new  pleasure  he  before  us  lays, 
We  must  needs  follow,  of  the  old  joy  sick. 

(Plumptre.) 

That  is  all  we  know.  In  the  "  Divine  Comedy  "  a  few 
words  are  spoken  of  a  very  young  girl  called  Gentucca, 
who  was  to  please  him  so  well,  that  for  her  sake  he  was 
even  to  like  Lucca,  her  native  town,  which  he  had  before 
hated,  but  that  may  have  been  only  a  fatherly  admiration 
of  an  old  friend — we  know  nothing  about  it.  But  these 
poems,  as  all  his  poetry,  give  us  insight  into  Dante's 
nature,  which  was  severe  as  well  as  passionate. 

Among  the  allegorical  canzoni,  some  of  which  are 
composed  in  a  cold  and  severe  style,  marble-like,  and  full 
of  striking  similes,  there  is  one  addressed  to  Florence, 
another  of  doubtful  sense,  which,  perhaps,  equally  turns 
on  love  and  likewise  concludes  with  verses  to  Florence, 
the  never-forgotten  city  hated  and  loved  alike : 

Dear  mountain  song  of  mine,  thou  goest  thy  way, 

Perchance  thou'lt  Florence  see,  mine  own  dear  land, 

That  drives  me,  doomed  and  banned, 

Showing  no  pity,  and  devoid  of  love. 

If  thou  dost  enter  there,  pass  on,  and  say, 

"  My  lord,  no  more  against  you  can  wage  war, 


262  DANTE  AND   HIS  TIME 

There  whence  I  come,  his  chains  so  heavy  are, 
That,  though  thy  fierce  wrath  placable  should  prove, 
No  longer  freedom  hath  he  thence  to  move." 

(Plumptre.) 

Meanwhile,  a  time  of  new  hopes  dawned  on  him.     In 
the  year  1310  Henry  of  Luxemburg  came  to  Italy.     By 
no  one  was  he  saluted  with  such  exultation  as  by  Dante. 
He  wrote  letters  full  of  wild  and  triumphant  joy  to  Rome 
and  Florence  and  to  all  princes  of  Italy.     He  had  an 
audience  with  the  Emperor ;  in  his  letters  he  called  him 
the  "  New  Moses  "  and  "  The  Lamb  of  God  "  ;  he  was  full 
of  the  most  ardent  hopes — but  the  enterprise  failed  and 
the  Emperor  died  at  Buonconvento  on  August  24,  1312. 
In  the  year  1315  he  was  buried  in  the  Campo  Santo  at 
Pisa ;  at  the  feet  of  the  sarcophagus  is  an  eagle  holding 
a  scroll  in  its  claws,  on  which  are  written  the  words : 
"  Quidquid  fecimus  venit  ex  alto."*    "  He  lies  as  one  in  a 
troubled  sleep,"  Ampere  said  of  this  monument.     What 
Dante  felt  at  this  blow  he  never  expressed.     Now  all  was 
over,  all  hope  gone  for  ever.    The  Florentines  renewed  the 
sentence  in  the  year  1 3 1 2  and  again  in  the  autumn  of  1315, 
including  his  sons  in  the  condemnation.     Anybody  by  the 
new  sentence  was  allowed  to  do  with  their  person  and 
property  whatever  he  liked ;  if  they  ever  should  be  taken 
on  Florentine  ground,  they  should  be  led  to  the  scaffold 
and  be  beheaded.     Again  he  wandered  a  banished  fugi- 
tive on  unknown  ways,  until  he  found  his  last  refuge  in 
Ravenna. 

He  probably  had  become  old  before  his  time,  a  broken 
man  wholly  retired  within  himself.  That  is  the  picture 
which  is  before  one's  eyes  when  one  thinks  of  Dante. 

*  M  Whatever  we  did  came  from  above."  Kraus  thinks  this  inscrip- 
tion strong  and  stern  enough  to  have  been  composed  by  Dante. 


DANTE  IN   EXILE  263 

Not  the  youthful  portrait  with  the  rose,  but  the  stooping 
man  with  the  haggard  features,  the.,  deep  and  terrible 
eyes,  in  whose  face  we  see  exile  and  care  and  sorrow  and 
unfathomable  mystic  thought,  that  is  the  Dante  we  know, 
the  exiled  one — "  Dantes  Alagherii  Florentinus  exul  im- 
meritus,"  as  he  always  styles  himself  in  his  letters — 
"  Dante  the  son  of  Alighiero,  a  Florentine,  exiled  though 
guiltless,"  that  is  the  Dante  who  wrote  the  "  Divine 
Comedy." 

How  long  the  plan  may  have  slumbered  and  ripened 
within  him,  at  what  time  the  first  cantos  were  conceived, 
and  when  the  last  were  completed,  is  all  unknown  to  us. 
The  contents  give  scant  evidence  as  to  the  date  of  their 
origin,  because,  undoubtedly,  all  was  repeatedly  corrected 
and  changed  and  gone  through  over  and  over  again.  The 
last  cantos  were  not  found  until  some  time  after  his  death. 
Still,  in  his  last  years  Dante,  conscious  of  the  greatness 
of  his  work,  hoped  that  for  its  sake  he  would  one  day  be 
recalled  to  Florence.  The  twenty-fifth  canto  of  Paradise 
begins  with  these  verses  : 

Should  it  e'er  chance  that  this  my  sacred  song, 

To  which  both  Heaven  and  earth  have  thus  set  hand 
And  which  had  made  me  lean  through  years  full  long, 

O'ercome  the  cruelty  that  keeps  me  banned 
From  the  fair  fold  where  I  as  lamb  did  rest, 
Foe  of  the  wolves,  who  war  against  the  land, 

With  other  voice,  in  other  fleece  then  drest, 

I  shall  return  as  poet,  laurel- crowned, 
And  at  my  baptism's  font  my  brow  invest. 

(Plumptre.) 

Dante  could  never  suffer  himself  to  accept  the  poet's 
crown — proud  as  ever — for  who  was  there  to  judge  him  ? 


DANTE  AND   HIS  TIME 

He  pronounced  himself  worthy  of  the  crown,  and  wanted 
to  put  the  laurel  on  his  head  himself  after  his  return  in 
his  "  beautiful  San  Giovanni."  It  was  not  to  be.  As 
Michael  Angelo  sang  : 

Heaven  opened  wide  its  doors  to  him 
While  his  dear  city  drove  him  from  her  own. 


% 


*        OF  THE      ^P 

UNIVERSITY 

CHAPTER   VI 

THE  "DIVINE  COMEDY 


Boccaccio  records  the  legend  that  at  Dante's  death  the 
thirteen  last  cantos  of  the  "Divina  Commedia"  were  miss- 
ing, and  notwithstanding  the  most  minute  research  could 
not  be  found.  Some  months  had  passed,  when  one  night  the 
poet  appeared  to  his  son  Jacopo  in  a  dream,  and  revealed 
to  him  the  place  where  the  manuscript  wa^flrifen. 

That  a  resurrection  of  a  dead  man  h  BJssary  to 
preserve  the  work  that  tells  of  the  dSJ^eems  almost 
natural;  one  cannot  marvel  so  much  at  it.  The  poem 
itself  is  still  more  marvellous.  What  a  spirit  dwelt  in  the 
man  who  dared,  as  it  were,  to  pass  judgment  on  the  world, 
to  pronounce  God's  sentence  on  His  creatures  !  He  did 
so  in  terrible  emotion,  and  fully  persuaded  of  his  mission. 
The  trembling  agitation  with  which  he  wrote  is  felt  in 
every  line  of  the  poem.  From  what  a  "  Patmos  of  Thought  " 
was  this  book  written — that  seems  like  a  message  from 
the  world  beyond,  the  reminiscences  of  a  soul  which  had 
once  already  left  its  "  tenement  of  clay." 

We  can  but  distantly  surmise  what  the  man  must  have 
suffered  who  was  driven  to  such  a  work !  In  vain  had 
he  entered  the  world  and  tried  to  obtain  a  place  in  it  ; 
repulsed  and  misunderstood;  wandering  through  it,  an 
erring  outcast   fugitive,   at  last  he  turned  from  it,  and 


266  DANTE  AND   HIS  TIME 

from  a  far  distant  height,  his  soaring  soul  dared  to  pass  judg- 
ment upon  it.  One  of  the  loneliest  men  who  ever  lived  ! 
For  him  and  his  like  the  word  has  been  spoken  which  the 
apostle  heard  :  "  My  grace  is  sufficient  for  thee  ! " 

The  man  who  wrote  the  "  Divine  Comedy "  was  a 
tragic,  not  an  unhappy  man.  For  whosoever  has  ex- 
perienced the  deep  joys  which  an  artist  feels  in  creating 
may  conceive  what  hours  of  boundless  pride,  what  con- 
centrated sensations  of  deep  happiness  such  a  work  must 
have  afforded  him.  He  knew  quite  well  who  he  was,  and 
what  a  task  had  been  allotted  to  him.  No  poet  ever  felt  so 
proudly,  and  at  the  same  time  so  modestly,  the  surprising 
magnitude  of  his  work.  That  none  of  his  contemporaries 
was  aware  of  his  greatness  could  not  for  a  moment  make 
him  falter.  He  undoubtedly  alluded  to  himself  in  that 
passage  in  the  eleventh  canto  of  Purgatory  where,  speak- 
ing of  the  poets  of  his  time,  he  says  : 

One  Guido  did  the  other's  fame  abase, 

And  yet  perhaps  that  man's  already  born 
Who  both  from  their  high- seated  nest  will  chase  ! 

In  Hell,  Ser  Brunetto  prophesies  : 

...  If  thou  follow  but  thy  star 
Thou  canst  not  fail  to  reach  a  glorious  shore 
If  right  I  saw  in  life,  that  seems  so  far  .  .  . 
Fortune  such  honours  has  prepared  for  thee. 
That  both  the  parties  will  thine  aid  desire, 
But  let  the  goats  far  from  the  sweet  grass  be  ! 

In  Paradise  he  is  saluted  as  a  chosen  one  by  the  blessed 
spirits. 

O  thou  thrice  blessed  one  who  to  the  throne 
Of  the  eternal  triumph  hast  been  called, 
Before  thy  mortal  vessel  be  destroyed  ! 


THE  "DIVINE  COMEDY  *■  267 

Nevertheless  the  first,  whom  he  judged  and  found 
wanting,  was  himself.  He  saw  what  he  had  been,  and 
what  had  become  of  him,  how  he  had  found  the  right  path, 
made  his  peace  with  God,  and  recognised  that  all  had  been 
right  and  necessary. 

Many  hidden  meanings  are  expressed  in  the  grand  epic. 
Its  many-sided  symbolism  allows  of  many  interpretations. 
First  it  tells,  legend-like,  that  the  man  Dante  has  been  in 
Hell  and  in  Heaven,  and  has  seen  much  that  is  hidden 
from  the  eyes  of  mankind.  This  is  the  first  and  most 
literal  sense  of  it.  The  second  step  is  remoter,  but  is 
not  yet  quite  an  allegory ;  it  is  Dante's  confession  of  his 
own  salvation,  and  how  it  was  brought  about.  Further 
meanings  are  indicated  in  the  first  chapter  of  this  part ; 
but,  above  all,  it  means  that  Dante  was  saved  out  of  the 
wilderness  of  doubt,  into  which  his  own  unhappy  fate  and 
the  frightful  state  of  the  world  had  plunged  him.  He  had 
suffered  all  ill  chance  that  could  fall  to  the  lot  of  man. 
He  loved  and  had  lost  his  beloved  one ;  his  family  life 
was  unhappy ;  he  was  a  statesman,  and  as  such  was  un- 
successful ;  he  saw  his  party  defeated  and  driven  from  the 
land,  and  when  the  Emperor,  from  whom  he  had  expected 
the  redemption  of  Italy  and  his  own  reinstatement,  entered 
Italy  with  a  victorious  army,  he  saw  him  die.  He  had 
been  full  of  the  noblest  intentions,  yet  men  not  only  gave 
him  no  thanks,  but  had  hunted  him  out,  had  branded  his 
name  with  foul  crimes  and  condemned  him  to  death.  He 
had  lost  his  whole  fortune ;  one  of  the  proudest  of  men, 
he  was  forced  continually  to  humble  himself  and  to  live 
on  foreign  alms ;  one  of  the  greatest  poets  of  all  times, 
he  saw  himself  neither  understood  nor  honoured.  His 
whole  life  was  devoted  to  his  native  city,  he  clung  to  it 
with  all  his  heart,  and  he  passed  twenty-two  years  longing 


268  DANTE   AND    HIS    TIME 

in  vain  to  return  to  it.  A  devout  Catholic,  full  of  rever- 
ence for  his  Church,  he  saw  it  degraded,  governed  by 
"  New  Pharisees,"  and  at  last  fallen  and  dishonoured. 
Italy,  whose  unity  was  dear  to  him,  he  saw  torn  by  the 
hatred  of  parties  and  cruelly  devastated  by  war.  A  sea 
of  wrong  had  passed  over  him,  he  saw  a  sea  of  wrong 
raging  over  the  world  in  which  he  lived ;  wherever  he 
turned  his  eyes  everything  was  such  as  to  drive  him  to 
despair,  but  he  despaired  not.  He  believed,  and  in  spite 
of  all,  recognised  the  high  harmony  of  the  world.  He  had 
found  the  path  for  his  soul,  the  work  for  his  mind,  by 
which  he  got  rid  of  the  weight  which  crushed  him,  and  at 
the  same  time  took  his  proud  revenge  on  the  men  who  had 
so  maltreated  him.  In  "  eternal  letters  of  fire  "  he  wrote 
his  terrible  judgment  "  as  lightning  writes  its  cipher  on 
the  rocks  "  to  be  read  by  all  posterity,  that  men  might 
one  day  fix  the  balance  between  this  one  man  on  the  one 
side  and  mankind  on  the  other. 

To  attain  this  he  had  to  do  in  a  spiritual  sense  what 
the  Greek  mathematician  had  demanded :  he,  as  it  were, 
overleaped  the  boundaries  of  life  and  found  a  standpoint 
beyond  it.  Imperfect,  full  of  wrong,  incomprehensible  as 
this  world  must  needs  seem  in  itself,  he  was  forced  to 
search  for  its  justification  in  the  world  invisible ;  he  was 
forced  to  follow  all  the  lines,  that  appear  in  this  our  world 
only  in  broken  strands,  to  their  perfection  in  the  other ; 
what  is  but  an  incomplete  fragment  of  an  arch  here,  darting 
from  none  knows  where  to  none  knows  whither,  will  close  to 
a  perfect  circle  in  the  spiritual  world  that  became  visible  to 
that  grand  seer.  His  eye  pierced  through  the  boundaries 
of  time  and  space  into  the  surrounding  sphere  of  eternity  : 
the  wrongs  done  here  were  repaired  and  punished  there. 
To  see  this  it  had  become  necessary,  or,  as  he  explains 


THE   "DIVINE   COMEDY"  269 

it,  the  heavenly  powers  by  mediation  of  loving  and  friendly 
spirits  had  so  decreed  it  that  his  soul  should  be  shown  the 
way  through  the  metaphysical  realms,  where  he  could  see 
the  terrible  retribution  of  God's  justice  and  be  satisfied. 
The  state  of  horrible  crime  on  earth  was  not  all — the  last 
word  was  not  spoken  here — he  could  be  calmer  and 
endure  all,  knowing  what  was  to  follow.  He  had  seen 
eternal  justice  and  the  end  of  life  face  to  face,  and  while 
his  soul  was  still  trembling  from  the  sight  of  those  sombre 
glories,  he  sat  down  to  tell  of  it. 

All  the  secret  sense,  mystic  connections  and  hidden 
allusions  of  the  work,  in  which  he  gave  utterance  to  his 
high  insight  will  probably  never  be  fully  known.  Already 
at  the  time  when  Beatrice  had  been  lost  to  him,  and  his 
thoughts  followed  her  into  the  other  world,  his  mind 
was  deeply  and  intensely  occupied  with  the  Invisible 
and  his  imagination  attracted  by  its  glories  and  hidden 
terrors.  Even  then  he  spoke  of  wonderful  visions  and 
strange  intuitions.  What  the  reason  was,  that  later, 
when  he  came  to  tell  of  the  great  vision,  he  chose  the 
year  1300  as  the  date  of  his  illumination,  is  unknown. 
The  year,  perhaps,  was  an  important  one  to  him  from 
reasons  which  he  alone  knew,  relating  to  changes  within 
him — reasons  which  could  only  be  investigated  by  read- 
ing in  the  soul  of  the  man ;  perhaps  the  fact  that  it  was 
the  year  of  the  jubilee  of  Christ's  birth  was  decisive.  So 
much  is  certain;  he  began  his  mystic  pilgrimage  on 
Maundy  Thursday  1300,  and  ended  it  in  the  week  of  the 
Resurrection  of  Christ.*  Into  these  eight  days  was  con- 
centrated the  whole  essence  of  his  life. 

*  My  esteemed  friend,  Lieutenant-Colonel  Pochhammer,  has  alleged 
good  reasons  for  believing  that  Dante  meant  the  date  of  his  descent  to 
be  Saturday,  March  25,  1301.  However,  the  question  seems  by  no 
means  decided,  and  I  still  prefer  the  interpretation  above  given. 


270  DANTE   AND   HIS   TIME 

What  title  he  originally  chose  for  his  work  is  unknown. 
If  the  letter  to  Can  Grande  of  Verona,  in  which  the 
Paradise  is  dedicated  to  that  prince,  be  genuine,  he  called 
it  the  "  Comedy,"  or  rather  a  "  Comedy."  In  those  times 
every  poem  which  ended  happily  was  called  a  comedy,  as 
he  says  in  the  letter  itself.  In  one  or  two,  and  not  very 
early,  editions,  it  is  called  the  "  Vision  of  Dante  Alighieri"; 
in  a  few,  simply  "  Le  terze  rime  di  Dante."  Afterwards 
the  attribute  of  <(  Divino,"  which  Italians  like  to  confer  on 
their  great  artists,  was  given  to  the  poet,  and  in  the 
sixteenth  century  the  work  itself  was  called  "  Divine." 
That  was  the  natural  origin  of  this  title,  which  since  has 
become  the  universal  one,  and  nowadays  is  mostly  be- 
lieved to  have  another  and  mystic  sense,  corresponding 
to  the  contents  of  the  work. 

There  exists  no  poetical  work  elaborated  with  such 
consummate  art  as  this.  The  smallest  detail  is  worked 
out ;  it  resembles  a  technical  work,  every  iron-joint, 
every  nail  of  which  has  been  considered  before.  Even 
the  number  of  the  words  seems  to  have  been  counted. 
The  mystical  properties  of  numbers  on  which  such  stress 
is  laid  already  in  the  "Vita  Nuova,"  where  the  number 
Nine — that  of  the  miraculous — recurs  ever  and  again,  and 
Beatrice  herself  is  called  a  Nine,  that  is,  a  wonder  whose 
root  is  the  Trinity — these  properties  are  worked  out  to 
the  utmost  in  the  structure  of  the  "Divine  Comedy."  The 
numbers  Three — that  of  the  threefold  Deity ;  Nine — that 
of  wonder  and  second  birth ;  and  Ten — the  number  of  the 
Perfect,  are  the  basis  of  its  construction.  Three  are  the 
rhymes,  three  verses  form  a  stanza,  three  animals  arise 
to  terrify  Dante,  three  holy  women  intervene  for  him,  three 
guides  lead  him.  Three  in  number  are  the  realms,  and  cor- 
respondingly the  whole  poem  is  divided  into  three  parts  ; 


THE   "DIVINE   COMEDY"  271 

the  book  opens  with  an  introductory  canto,  then  follow 
ninety-nine  cantos,  thirty-three  for  each  of  the  three  realms, 
corresponding  to  the  years  of  Christ's  life  on  earth,  so 
that  the  number  of  all  the  cantos  is  a  hundred,  the  number 
of  the  Whole.  Each  of  the  three  realms  is  divided  into 
ten  regions,  Hell  into  Limbo  and  the  nine  circles ;  Purga- 
tory into  three  preparatory  divisions  and  the  seven  circles 
of  the  capital  sins  ;  in  Paradise  there  are  nine  heavens  and 
as  tenth  region  the  Heaven  of  perfect  light,  the  Empyrean. 
Even  verses  and  words  seem  to  have  been  counted,  for 
the  number  of  the  words  is  99,542 ;  and  of  verses  Hell 
contains  4720,  Purgatory  35  more,  and  Paradise  again 
three  more.  And  each  of  the  three  parts  ends  with  the 
word  "  stars." 

To  procure  a  fit  scene  for  his  poem,  Dante,  as  it  were, 
created  the  world  anew  in  his  fancy.  In  the  centre  of 
the  ten  heavens  the  round  ball  of  the  earth  is  floating. 
Its  northern  hemisphere  bears  the  continent,  in  the  very 
midst  of  it  is  Jerusalem,  in  its  interior  is  placed  the  funnel 
of  hell.  In  its  deepest  depths,  in  the  earth's  centre,  the 
point  of  concentrated  gravitation  and  cold,  where  all 
warmth  and  all  light  end,  at  the  farthest  distance  from 
God  and  His  heavens,  is  the  dwelling  of  Satan,  who  is 
confined  there  in  eternity.  The  opposite  southern  hemi- 
sphere is  that  of  the  wide  waters;  from  a  solitary  island 
rises  a  mountain  of  immense  height  on  whose  summit,  near 
to  the  zone  of  fire  and  the  moon,  the  terrestrial  paradise, 
the  Garden  of  Eden,  is  situated. 

Somewhere  on  the  earth's  surface,  half  dreaming,  the 

poet  has  left  it  and  on  unknown  paths  has  entered  the 

realm  beneath  it.    That  is  the  well-known  grand  opening  : 

"  In  the  midst  of  our  life's  path  I  found  myself  in  a  dark 

forest,  and  the  right  path  was  lost,  so  dark  and  terrible 


272  DANTE   AND    HIS   TIME 

was  that  forest,  that  even  in  thinking  of  it  its  terror  seems 
to  return !  Death  cannot  be  more  bitterly  felt !  "  And 
yet  so  good  has  been  its  result  that  he  must  tell  all 
that  happened  there !  He  no  longer  knows  how  he 
entered  it,  so  full  of  slumber  was  his  soul  when  he  lost 
his  first  path  ;  yet  he  knows  this  much,  that  at  the  end  of 
that  Vale  of  Tears  he  reached  a  hill  on  whose  summit  the 
planet's  rays  already  fell,  which  is  the  sure  leading  star 
of  mankind.  The  planet  was  the  Sun,  the  Light  of  God. 
He  begins  to  feel  some  relief, 

And  gazes  back  upon  the  scene  behind, 
Which  never  living  man  had  yet  passed  o'er  ! 

But  just  as  he  begins  to  ascend  that  sloping  hill  he  sees 
with  terror  a  leopard  supple,  lithe  and  fleet,  with  dusky- 
spotted  skin,  barring  his  way;  yet  it  being  springtime 
and  the  hour  of  morning,  he  hopes  that  the  beast  will 
withdraw,  when  lo !  a  lion  appears,  with  upraised  head 
and  fierce  hunger,  and  a  she-wolf,  that  in  her  very  lean- 
ness seems  laden  with  every  filthy  greed.  Trembling  he 
stands,  and  slowly,  slowly  turns  back  towards  the  depth, 
where  "  the  sun  is  silent." 

Thus  recoiling  in  the  deepest  despair,  a  form  suddenly 
rises  before  him  that  seems  dumb  with  the  silence  of 
centuries.  "Have  pity  on  me,  whosoever  thou  art,  man 
or  shade  !  "  Dante  cries.  It  is  Virgil,  who  makes  himself 
known  and  asks :  "  How  is  it  that  thou  turnest  back  to 
such  bitterness  ?  Why  dost  thou  not  ascend  the  Delect- 
able Mountain,  which  is  the  cause  and  beginning  of  all 
joy  ?  "  "  O  art  thou  then  Virgil !  "  Dante  begins,  his  fore- 
head reddened  with  shame ;  "  O  thou  my  master  !  source 
of  all  honour,  which  I  drew  from  that  style  I  took  from 
thee!  My  guide  !  by  all  the  love  I  ever  applied  to  thy  great 


THE   "DIVINE   COMEDY "  273 

work,  thou  seest  the  beast  that  threatens  my  way  ;  save 
me  from  it,  renowned  sage!"  "Another  way  must  be 
thine,"  Virgil  replies  ;  "  on  the  paths  of  this  world  there  is 
no  rescue  from  that  dire  she-wolf  of  greed  which  primordial 
envy  once  let  loose  from  hell  to  ruin  mankind,  which 
weds  with  many  other  beasts,  and  will  continue  to  do  so 
until  the  Greyhound  come,  who  will  be  her  death,  and  who 
will  save  that  poor  and  suffering  Italy !  " 

Virgil  was  thought  to  be  the  greatest  of  all  wizards  and 
sages  of  antiquity.  The  fourth  Eclogue,  which,  indeed, 
sounds  like  a  prophecy  of  Christ's  birth,  had  procured  him 
such  fame.     He  continues  : 

11  Wherefore  for  thee  I  think  and  judge  'tis  well 

That  thou  should'st  follow,  I  thy  leader  be, 
And  guide  thee  hence  to  that  eternal  cell, 

Where  thou  shalt  hear  sharp  wails  of  misery, 

Shalt  see  the  ancient  spirits  in  their  pain, 
For  which,  as  being  the  second  death,  men  cry : 

Those  thou  shalt  see  who,  in  the  hope  to  gain, 

When  the  hour  comes,  the  blessed  ones'  happier  clime ; 
Can  bear  the  torturing  fire  nor  yet  complain. 

To  these  would'st  thou  with  eager  footsteps  climb, 

A  soul  shall  guide  thee  worthier  far  than  I  : 
With  her  I'll  leave  thee  when  to  part  'tis  time. 

For  that  great  Emperor  who  reigns  on  high, 

Because  I  lived  a  rebel  to  His  will, 
Wills  that  through  me  none  come  His  city  nigh. 

Through  all  the  world  He  rules,  yet  there  reigns  still 

There  is  His  city,  there  His  lofty  throne. 
Thrice  blessed  whom  He  doth  choose  those  courts  to 
fill ! " 

Then  spake  I,  "  By  the  God  thou  didst  not  own, 

O  Poet,  I  of  thee  a  boon  desire, 
That  I  may  'scape  this  woe,  or  worse  unknown, 

s 


274  DANTE   AND    HIS   TIME 

That  whither  thou  hast  said  thou  lead  me  higher, 

So  that  St.  Peter's  gate  in  sight  I  find, 
And  those  thou  tell'st  of  in  their  torments  dire." 

Then  he  moved  onward  and  I  trod  behind. 

(Plumptre.) 

The  second  canto  begins  with  that  beautiful  passage  : 
The  day  was  closing  and  the  dusky  air  softly  began  to 
free  all  beings  from  their  cares.  I  alone  prepared  to 
sustain  the  toil  of  the  way  and  of  pity,  which  my  unerring 
mind  will  now  retell."  Doubts  were  filling  his  mind: 
what  does  Virgil — that  is,  he  himself — expect  from  him  ? 
How  can  he  trust  him  ?  At  whose  side  is  he  going  to  place 
himself?  Aeneas,  of  course,  destined  to  found  Imperial 
Rome,  could  dare  it ;  the  other  who,  living,  ever  saw  the 
other  world  was  the  "  chosen  vessel,"  the  Apostle  Paul, 
for  in  the  Second  Epistle  to  the  Corinthians  is  written  : 

"  It  is  not  expedient  for  me  doubtless  to  glory.  I  will 
come  to  the  visions  and  revelations  of  the  Lord. 

"  I  knew  a  man  in  Christ  above  fourteen  years  ago 
(whether  in  the  body  I  cannot  tell,  or  whether  out  of  the 
body  I  cannot  tell ;  God  knoweth),  such  an  one  caught  up 
to  the  third  heaven. 

"  And  I  knew  such  a  man  .  .  .  how  that  he  was  caught 
up  into  paradise  and  heard  unspeakable  words  which  it  is 
not  lawful  for  a  man  to  utter.  .  .  . 

"  For  though  I  would  desire  to  glory  I  shall  not  be  a 
fool,  for  I  will  say  the  truth.  .  .  . 

"  And  lest  I  should  be  exalted  above  measure  through 
the  abundance  of  the  revelations,  there  was  given  to  me  a 
thorn  in  the  flesh.  .  .  ." 

At  the  Apostle's  side  Dante  had  dared  to  place  himself 
as  the  third  elected  and  he  now  hesitates  :  "  I  am  not 
Aeneas,  nor  Paul.     Who  am  I  that  I  should  try  such  a 


THE   "DIVINE   COMEDY"  275 

thing  ?  Who  concedes  it  ?  "  He  is  full  of  misgivings 
as  to  his  strength.  But  Virgil  warns  him  to  beware  of 
cowardice,  and  then  explains  to  him  how  he  came  to  be 
there.  He  had  been  sitting  in  the  society  of  heroes  and 
poets  of  antiquity  when  suddenly  a  lady  called  him, 
blessed  and  fair,  softly  and  sweetly  speaking  with  angelic 
voice,  who  said  :  "  My  friend,  no  friend  of  fortune's,  is  so 
entangled  in  the  perilous  net  of  life,  that  he  will  be  lost  if 
thou  with  thy  well-graced  words  do  not  rescue  him." 
The  Virgin  herself  and  St.  Lucia  had  asked  her  why  she 
did  not  help  him,  who  once  had  loved  her  so  much  that 

For  her  sake  he  left  the  common  herd, 

14 1  am  Beatrice,"  she  says,  "  who  bid  thee  go, 

Love  moved  me,  and  from  Love  my  speech  did  flow. 

Why  dost  thou  falter  then  ?  why  hesitate 

While  three  such  ladies,  blessed  by  God's  dear  grace, 

There  are  in  Heaven,  caring  for  thy  fate  ?  " 

Much  has  been  written  by  way  of  explaining  the  sym- 
bolism of  these  two  first  cantos.*  There  can  be  but  little 
doubt  that  it  indicates  how  Dante  in  the  dark  forest  of 
life  was  threatened  and  hindered  by  the  three  chief  vices 
— luxury,  pride  and  avarice — and  how  the  gracious  Queen 
of  Heaven  herself,  aided  by  the  saint  who  seems  to  have 
been  the  patroness  of  Dante  and  by  Beatrice,  sends  out 
Virgil — that  is,  the  old  wisdom  of  this  earth — to  save  him. 
Yet  all  these  symbols  possibly  may  have  more  meanings 
than  one.  What  he  certainly — and  whatever  sense  may 
be  hidden  in  the  different  figures — wishes  to  imply,  is 
that  the  heavenly  powers  made  an  attempt  to  save  him 
by    according   him    those   special   revelations   which   he 

*  Vide  Kraus,  "Dante,"  p.  441  sqg.,  "Die  Allegorie  der  zivei  ersten 
Gesange  des  Inferno."  Paul  Pochhammer,  "Die  Gottl.  C  medie," 
Leipzig,  1901.     Einfiihrung. 


276  DANTE   AND    HIS   TIME 

proceeds  to  describe,  that  great  illuminating  vision  of  the 
"  mystery  of  creation."  What  is  most  discussed  of  all  are 
the  prophecies  of  Virgil,  the  question  who  may  be  the 
greyhound  by  whom  the  she-wolf  will  be  vanquished  and 
Italy  be  delivered.  Some  say  that  Can  Grande  is  meant 
by  it,  or  Henry  of  Luxemburg  and  others  ;  some  are  even 
of  the  opinion  that  Dante  alludes  to  the  world's  Saviour 
Himself.  The  question  does  not  promise  ever  to  be  solved. 
Nor  do  I  think  it  a  matter  of  great  importance  to  us. 

They  go  and  approach  the  dark  portal  with  the  well- 
known  inscription  : 

Through  me  men  pass  to  city  of  great  woe ; 
Through  me  men  pass  to  endless  misery  ; 
Through  me  men  pass  where  all  the  lost  ones  go. 

Justice  it  was  that  moved  my  Maker  high, 

The  Power  of  God  it  was  that  fashioned  me, 
Wisdom  supreme  and  primal  Charity. 

Before  me  nothing  was  of  things  that  be, 
Save  the  Eterne,  and  I  eterne  endure : 
Ye  that  pass  in,  all  hope  abandon  ye. 

On  entering  through  it : 

There  sighs  and  tears  and  groans  disconsolate 
So  sounded  through  the  starless  firmament, 
That  at  the  outset  I  wept  sore  thereat. 

Speech  many-tongued  and  cries  of  dire  lament, 

Words  full  of  wrath  and  accents  of  despair, 
Deep  voices  hoarse  and  hands  where  woe  found  vent, — 

These  made  a  tumult  whirling  through  the  air, 

For  evermore  in  timeless  gloom  the  same, 
As  whirls  the  sand  storm-driven  here  and  there. 

Dante  asks  who  these  are,  and  the  answer  betrays  a 


THE   "DIVINE   COMEDY"  277 

conception  of  surpassing  grandeur.  For  that  is  not  yet 
hell !  but  these  are  the  sorrowful  souls  of  those  "  who 
lived  without  glory  and  without  shame."  The  indifferent, 
the  worthless,  the  inert,  who  had  lived  in  sordid  quiet 
and  devoid  of  aspirations.  Heaven  expels  them  and  hell 
refuses  them.  "  They  have  no  hope,  even  in  death,"  for 
that  is  passed,  and  their  blind  life  is  so  base  that  they 
envy  any  other  lot. 

Nothing  remains  to  tell  that  they  ever  lived.  Justice 
and  Mercy  alike  scorn  them — "  better  not  speak  of  them 
but  pass  in  silence,"  Virgil  says.  If  you  keep  in  mind 
that  we  are  not  only  in  hell,  but  that  every  scene  sym- 
bolises a  certain  state  of  soul,  that  every  circle  is  to 
show  the  living,  where  they  are  and  what  is  their  state  in 
reality,  the  obvious  sense  of  the  verses  will  appear  to  be 
"  worse  than  all  sin  is  narrow  indifference."  These  are 
the  miserable  "che  mai  uon  fur  vivi,"  "who  have  never 
lived  at  all," 

Hated  by  God  and  by  God's  enemies. 

They  arrive  at  the  shore  of  Acheron,  where  lamenting  and 
tremblingsouls  are  transported  by  Charon  to  the  other  shore. 
Charon  thrusts  back  the  living  man,  who,  in  a  way  that  is 
not  quite  clear  to  him,  suddenly  finds  himself  in  the  first 
circle  of  hell,  where  the  heroes  and  sages  of  antiquity  and 
pagan  lands  dwell  in  peaceful  and  happy  meadows.  Not 
having  been  Christians,  Paradise  is  closed  to  them.  Here 
are  the  patriarchs,  with  the  exception  of  those  who,  like 
Adam,  Moses,  David,  after  Christ's  descent  to  hell,  were 
raised  to  heaven.  Here  are  Homer,  Saladin  and  others, 
and  with .  proud  modesty  Dante  records  with  what 
courtesy  Homer,  Horace  and  other  poets  received  him. 
11 1  was  the  sixth  among  five  such  men," 


278  DANTE   AND    HIS   TIME 

In  the  second  circle  they  find  those  who  sinned  from 
love,  hurled  to  and  fro  by  eternal  whirlwinds — the  symbol 
of  restless  passion.  That  is  the  canto  which  contains  the 
famous  episode  of  Francesca  da  Rimini,  "  a  thing/'  as 
Carlyle  says,  "  woven  as  out  of  rainbows  on  a  ground  of 
eternal  black."  No  translation  will  ever  be  made  to  render 
all  the  charm  of  these  most  touching  lines,  placed  like  an 
island  in  that  ocean  of  gloom  and  darkness,  yet  themselves 
burning  with  a  sombre  glow,  as  a  night  lightened  by  the 
flaring  eruption  of  a  volcano ;  the  song  of  saddest,  ten- 
derest  love  and  most  intense  pain.  Thousands  he  saw 
passing  him  who  all  had  been  undone  by  love  :  Paris, 
Tristan,  all  the  knights  and  fair  ladies.  Deepest  pity 
filled  the  man's  soul,  who  himself  had  known  love  so  well, 
and  he  stands  with  troubled  mind.  Then  he  expresses 
the  desire  to  speak  to  two,  who  fly  together,  and  seem  to 
be  carried  so  lightly  on  the  air.  He  conjures  the  "  pained 
souls  "  by  the  love  "  that  once  united  and  undid  them  " 
to  come  to  him.  And  they  come,  like  doves  descending 
on  open  wings  through  the  serene  sky,  so  powerful  was 
his  loving  call,  "  O  gracious,  O  kind  being  that  descend- 
est  through  this  dark  and  pernicious  region  to  visit  us, 
whose  blood  dyed  the  earth," 

If  he  were  kind  to  us  who  rules  the  world 
We  would  pray  unto  Him  to  grant  thee  peace, 
Because  thou  pitiest  our  misery. 

Peace  seems  sweetest  and  most  desirable  to  those  rest- 
less souls.  And  Francesca  tells  her  story  with  that  triple 
invocation  of  love.  "  Love,  which  so  quickly  befalls  a  noble 
heart,  enamoured  him  of  my  fair  body ;  Love,  which  never 
spares  loving  to  the  beloved,  enamoured  me  of  him  with 
such  power,  that  even  here  in  hell  he  leaves  me  not ;  Love 


THE   « DIVINE   COMEDY"  279 

led  us  to  one  common  death !  It  was  Love  which  did 
all."  And  Dante  bows  his  head  in  deepest  thought,  until 
the  poet  asks  him,  "  What  art  thou  thinking  of  ?  "  And  he 
answers :  "Alas,  how  many  fond  thoughts,  what  deep  desire 
led  those  two  to  the  unhappy  pass !  "  and  turning  to  the 
spirit  says,  "  Francesca,  thy  suffering  makes  me  so  sad,  so 
full  of  pity,  that  I  could  well  weep  with  thee ;  but,  tell  me, 
in  the  time  of  the  sweet  sighs,  how  did  Love  grant  that  thou 
too  shouldest  come  to  know  the  doubtful  pangs  ?  "  And  she, 
"  There  is  no  greater  grief  than  to  remember  past  joys  in 
misery ;  but  if  thou  wishest  so  strongly  to  hear  what  the 
first  root  of  our  love  was,  I  will  tell  thee,  though  I  must 
speak  with  tears.  We  once  sat  and  read,  for  pleasure's 
sake,  of  Lancelot  and  how  Love  held  him  fast — we  were 
alone  and  had  no  misgivings  .  .  .  yet  oftentimes  our  eyes 
stopped  reading  and  met,  our  faces  grew  pale,  but  there 
was  one  passage  that  undid  us ; — when  we  read  how  that 
sweet  smiling  mouth  was  kissed  by  such  a  lover,  then  he, 
who  never  may  be  separated  from  me,  all  trembling,  kissed 
my  mouth  .  .  .  our  Gallehault  was  the  book,  and  he  who 
wrote  it  .  .  .  on  that  day  we  did  not  read  one  line  more ! " 
And  while  one  of  the  spirits  thus  speaks,  the  other  weeps 
so  pitifully  that  Dante,  pale  and  broken  by  compassion, 
faints  and  falls,  like  a  dead  man. 

In  the  third  circle  the  sins  of  gluttony  are  punished. 
Souls  lie  in  foul  mud  and  mire  under  an  "  accursed  eternal 
cold  and  heavy  rain  "  of  dark  water,  snow  and  hail.  Here 
a  Florentine  sinner,  Ciacco,  predicts  to  Dante  his  imminent 
exile.  In  the  next  canto  prodigals  and  misers  (among 
the  latter  many  churchmen),  with  the  wild  cries  and  howls 
of  beasts,  roll  huge  stones  against  each  other.  Most 
remarkable  is  the  symbolism  in  this  passage;  with 
these   souls  alone  in  all  hell  no  exchange  of  words   is 


280  DANTE    AND    HIS   TIME 

possible.  They  have  no  sense  left  for  anything;  there 
is  no  speaking  to  men  who  live  for  money  alone,  their 
spirit  is  dead  to  all  aspiration !  Over  the  Stygian 
pool  he  is  rowed  in  the  bark  of  the  horse-maned 
Phlegyas  to  the  burning  town  of  Dis.  The  souls  of  those 
who  once  wasted  their  lives  with  grumbling,  moroseness, 
and  needless  ire  arise  from  out  of  the  slimy  pool,  clutch 
the  boat  with  their  hands  and  teeth,  tear  each  other,  and 
again  sink  into  the  waters.  A  mighty  wall  of  red-hot 
iron,  occupied  by  thousands  of  devils,  encloses  the  deep 
interior  funnel  of  hell.  By  it  a  sharp  philosophic  dis- 
tinction is  indicated.  Until  now  Dante  had  but  seen  the 
sinners  who  had  failed  by  insufficient  will  to  do  right, 
whose  force  of  resistance  against  temptation  had  not  been 
strong  enough.  Now  follow  those  who  were  active  in 
evil  and  intentionally  bad.  The  first  are  the  heretics, 
silently  lying  in  countless  burning  coffins.  Here  is 
Frederick  II.,  here  the  elder  Cavalcanti,  and  Farinata 
degli  Uberti.  Notwithstanding  his  mediaeval  opinions, 
Dante  here  again  proves  that  the  beginnings  of  more 
modern  ideas  were  dawning  in  him.  Whereas  his  theory 
forces  him  to  condemn,  yet  he  is  unable  to  exult  in  the 
damnation  of  souls,  who,  in  spite  of  their  crimes,  appear 
noble  and  great  to  him.  Just  as  he  cannot  conceal  his 
pity  for  Francesca  and  Paolo,  so  he  bows  his  head  with 
deep  reverence  in  the  presence  of  the  high-minded  Farinata 
and  again  on  the  glowing  sand  to  his  master,  Ser  Brunetto, 
nay,  Virgil  himself  admonishes  him  to  be  courteous  to  three 
other  great  Florentines,  doomed  and  damned  though 
they  be. 

Passing  on  through  ever  new  torments  and  new  classes 
of  sinners,  they  descend  deeper  and  deeper.  The  vivid 
distinctness  with  which    the  landscape,   the  scenes,  all 


firotji  photo. 


DANTE 

FROM    A  PLASTER     CAST 
(  U/fvKi  Gallery .  Florence  / 


THE   "DIVINE   COMEDY"  281 

movements  are  painted  is  admirable  beyond  expression. 
By  the  movement  of  his  throat  while  drawing  breath,  by 
the  stones  that  give  way  under  his  foot,  the  spirits  notice 
with  terror  that  a  living  man  is  passing,  while  in  the 
lighter  regions  they  perceive  it  by  the  shadow  which  his 
body  throws  in  the  sun.  But  here  below  there  is  no  sun, 
but  all  is  darkness,  or  fire  and  terror.  There  is  the  Hell 
of  Serpents,  Hell  full  of  lacerated  and  bleeding  bodies  and 
limbs,  others  full  of  all  disgusting,  stinking  sickness,  a 
wild  phantasmagoria  of  torments.  In  one  of  the  "  Evil 
Pits  "  where  the  dishonest  officers  are  drowned  in  seething 
pitch,  and  raise  their  heads  out  of  it  to  cool  them,  "  as 
frogs  will  thrust  out  their  muzzles  in  a  watery  ditch," 
there  follow  scenes  of  grotesque  and  wild  hellish  frolic  in 
which  devils  watch  and  catch  one  of  the  sinners  and 
fight  for  the  prize  of  tearing  him. 

Ever  deeper  he  descends  until  he  reaches  the  place 
where  the  ghosts  of  traitors  are  imprisoned  in  eternal  ice ; 
walking  over  the  glassy  surface  he  describes  his  own 
horror  at  seeing  the  livid  frozen  bodies  in  the  green 
transparent  ice  beneath  him.  Suddenly  he  comes  upon 
two  spirits  imprisoned  in  one  pit,  one  bent  over  the  other, 
gnawing  and  biting  the  latter's  skull.  On  Dante's  asking 
who  he  is,  the  sinner,  wiping  his  mouth  on  the  other's 
hair,  uplifts  himself  from  the  horrible  repast  and  says : 
41  I  know  not  who  thou  art,  yet  to  hear  thee,  know  I  that 
thou  wast  born  in  Florence ;  learn,  then,  that  I  was  Count 
Ugolino  n — and  then  he  tells  the  world-famous  story,  with 
all  the  terrifying  art  which  Dante  is  master  of,  the  abrupt 
and  vivid  painting,  condensing  all  sweetness  and  all  horrors 
into  one  short  sentence.  The  dream  before  dawn  that 
frightened  the  father:  how  he  saw  wolf  and  wolf-cubs 
chased  by  lean  hounds,  bearing  the  faces  of  his  Pisan 


282  DANTE   AND    HIS   TIME 

enemies,  and,  waking,  heard  the  children  crying  in  their 
sleep  for  bread  ;  how  he  heard  the  guards  locking  the 
tower's  door,  and  suddenly  struck  by  the  fearful  meaning 
of  that  noise,  stared  speechlessly  into  his  children's  faces. 
Little  Anselm  cried :  "  Why  dost  thou  look  at  me  so, 
father  ?  "  He  answered  not,  he  shed  no  tear,  hour  on  hour 
passed  by,  day  and  night ;  with  the  new  morning  a  small 
ray  of  light  fell  into  the  gloomy  cell,  and  he  saw  the  horror 
in  his  own  pale  face  reflected  in  that  of  the  four  boys,  and 
in  despair  he  bit  his  own  arm ;  and  the  boys  deeming  it  to 
be  hunger,  not  wrath,  cried  :  "  Eat  mine,  father,  our  flesh 
is  poor  enough,  but  it  is  thine  own  ! "  Then  he  calmed  him- 
self to  quiet  them,  and  again  day  by  day  passed,  and  on  the 
fourth  one  of  the  boys  dying  cried  out:  "Why  dost  thou 
not  help  me,  father  ?  "  On  the  fifth  day  he  alone  was  living, 
blind,  stumbling  over  them  ;  then,  what  grief  had  not 
done  hunger  did — the  last  sentence  darkly  implies  what 
so  often  has  been  told.  He  had  not  yet  quite  finished  his 
story  when  his  teeth,  like  fangs,  were  again  tearing  the 
Archbishop's  skull  by  whose  order  that  horror  had  been 
perpetrated,  and  the  bare  bones  are  heard  cracking  as  if 
a  dog  were  satiating  himself. 

But  Dante,  who  on  this  occasion  breaks  out  into  wild 
imprecations  against  Pisa,  the  blot  of  shame, 

Del  bel  paese  dove  il  si  suona, 

immediately  after  shows  himself  as  the  vengeful  and 
ruthlessly  passionate  Italian  he  was ;  of  a  no  less 
mediaeval  mind  than  those  whose  vengeance  had  been 
wreaked  with  such  atrocity.  Already  before  this  scene 
he  had  by  chance  struck  the  head  of  one  of  the  sinners 
with  his  foot,  and  on  the  spirits'  angry  remonstrance 
asked  for  his  name;  but  the  sinner  wants  it  to  remain 


THE   "DIVINE   COMEDY"  283 

hidden,  and  requests  him  to  take  himself  hence  nor 
vex  his  soul.  Upon  that  Dante  angrily  clutches  him 
by  his  w  hinder  scalp  "  and  threatens  not  to  leave  one 
single  hair  upon  his  skull  unless  he  confess  his  name. 
The  sinner  again  sullenly  refuses,  and  more  than  one 
good  handful  has  Dante  torn  out,  when  another  spirit 
strikes  in,  calling  the  first  by  name.  What  a  truly  hellish 
scene  in  that  den  of  ice  and  woe  !  The  faces  of  the 
tormented  are  covered  by  a  crust  of  frozen  tears,  and 
one  of  them  begs  the  passing  Dante  to  free  his  eyes 
from  it.  Dante  promises  to  do  so  if  he  answers  his 
questions,  adding  the  doubtful  oath,  "  May  I  go  down  still 
deeper  if  I  fail  to  do  so."  Upon  that  the  spirit  confesses 
himself  to  be  Fra  Alberigo  of  Faenza,  and  the  soul  freez- 
ing at  his  side  that  of  the  Genoese  Branca  d'Oria.  "  I 
trow,"  Dante  replies,  "that  thou  deceivest  me  here; 
Branca  d'Oria  is  yet  alive  on  earth."  But  the  other 
explains  that  his  body  may  still  exist  on  earth  possessed 
by  an  evil  spirit,  but  the  soul  certainly  is  here  below ! 
"And  now  open  my  eyes."  "And  I,"  says  Dante,  "I 
opened  them  not — it  was  virtuous  to  cheat  such  a  beast." 
How  that  paints  the  man  who  so  well  knew  how  to  hate, 
and  how  truly  devilish  to  say  of  a  man  alive  that  his  soul 
had  left  him  long  ago,  and  that  a  fiend  was  living  in  his 
body,  in  a  time  when  such  things  were  believed. 

Ever  deeper,  darker  and  narrower  the  pit  becomes, 
until,  like  an  immense  black  cloud,  the  three-headed  body 
of  Lucifer  arises  before  them.  Holding  on  by  his  shaggy 
hide  they  descend  through  the  rocks  around  his  middle, 
when  Virgil  suddenly,  with  toil  and  labouring  breath, 
turns  round  and  seems  to  climb  back  to  hell ;  and  Dante 
following,  sees  high  above  him  Lucifer's  legs  and  feet. 
They  have  passed  the  centre  of  the  earth,  and  find  them- 


284  DANTE    AND    HIS   TIME 

selves  in  a  large  cave,  through  which  they  wander,  until 
by  an  opening  above  them  they  once  more  see  the  stars 
of  heaven. 

Pochhammer  somewhere  calls  the  u  Divine  Comedy  "  a 
triptych,  the  central  picture  of  which  is  the  most  perfect. 
Carlyle  was  of  the  same  opinion,  as  well  as  Alfred  von 
Berger  in  a  recent  essay  on  Dante.  S.  Heller  admired 
the  Paradise  more  than  the  rest.  But  most  men  are 
attracted  and  deeply  impressed  by  the  ever-changing 
horrors  and  the  grotesque  and  monstrous  scenes  of  hell, 
and  find  the  two  other  parts  comparatively  monotonous. 
Passion,  revenge  and  sin  certainly  allow  of  more  life  and 
dramatic  movement  than  penitence  and  religious  ecstasy. 
The  Inferno  is  surely  more  easily  understood  than  the 
two  other  parts. 

"  A  sweet  lustre  of  oriental  sapphire  "  greets  the  wan- 
derers, coming  from  hell,  when  they  once  more  behold 
the  sky.  The  morning  breeze  and  the  victorious  dawn  of 
day  clear  the  mist,  and  as  a  trembling  light  Dante  sees  the 
wide  ocean  of  the  southern  hemisphere  sparkling  before 
him.  In  the  midst  of  the  island  on  which  they  stand  the 
mountain  arises.  More  rapidly  than  ever  bird  flew  a 
light  darts  across  the  sea.  It  is  the  radiant  wings  of  the 
angel  who  is  guiding  a  ship  full  of  souls  to  the  shore. 
Among  them  Dante  recognises  a  friend  of  his  youth,  the 
singer  Casella,  and  upon  Dante  inviting  him  to  sing, 
Casella  intones  Dante's  own  canzone,  "  Amor  che  nella 
mente  mi  ragiona  !  " 

At  the  foot  of  the  mountain  are  resting  and  wandering 
those  who  in  life  have  failed  to  turn  to  God,  or  postponed 
it  until  the  last  moment.  Here  Dante  meets  King  Man- 
fred and  many  others,  and  just  on  his  taking  leave  of  a 


THE   "DIVINE   COMEDY"  285 

group  of  souls  a  woman  addresses  him  with  the  words : 
"O  think  of  me,  I  am  La  Pia" — Pia  de'  Tolomei  of 
Siena  whom  her  jealous  husband  had  ordered  to  be  thrown 
out  of  a  window  of  his  castle  in  the  Maremma.  The  sixth 
canto  contains  his  memorable  meeting  with  the  trouba- 
dour Sordello  and  the  famous  outcry  of  Dante  on  the 
doleful  state  of  Italy  : 

Ah,  slave  Italia,  home  of  sad  despair, 

Ship  without  pilot,  where  the  storm  blows  shrill, 
No  Queen  of  Kingdoms,  but  a  harlot's  lair. 

They  enter  Purgatory  by  a  narrow  gate,  over  the 
mystic  steps'  which  symbolise  the  sacrament  of  penitence. 
The  angel  who  is  warder  of  the  gate  writes  seven  P's 
(peccatum,  sin)  on  Dante's  forehead  with  the  point  of  his 
sword.  On  the  seven  cornices,  which  run  round  the 
mountain  sides,  the  seven  deadly  sins  of  gride,  Envy, 
Anger,  <^2!h»" ,  AYiflllfiifoi  Plutt(my  anj  LascividgsScss'aJfe 
purged ;  and  in  every  one  they  encounter  swarms  of 
souls  who  joyfully  bear  the  torments  of  their  penitence, 
full  of  the  hope  once  to  reach  the  blessed  state. 

Our  Father,  Thou  who  dwellest  in  the  Heaven, 

Not  bound  by  space,  but  by  love  more  intense, 
Which  Thou  unto  Thy  primal  works  hast  given, 

Praised  be  Thy  name  and  Thine  omnipotence 

By  every  creature,  as  'tis  meet  and  right 
To  render  thanks  to  thy  sweet  effluence. 

Upon  us  may  Thy  kingdom's  peace  alight, 

To  which  we  cannot  of  ourselves  arise, 
Unless  it  come  with  all  our  reason's  might, 

As  of  their  will  Thine  angels  sacrifice 

Make  to  Thee,  while  their  lips  "  Hosanna  "  say, 
So  may  men  offer  all  their  will's  device  ! 


286  DANTE   AND    HIS   TIME 

Our  daily  manna  give  to  us  to-day, 

Without  which  whoso  through  this  desert  drear 
Journeys,  goes  back,  though  pressing  on  his  way  : 

And  as  the  trespass  we  from  others  bear 

We  forgive  each,  so,  Lord,  do  Thou  forgive 
Of  bounty,  nor  to  count  our  merit's  care. 

Our  virtue,  which  so  soon  doth  harm  receive, 

Put  not  to  peril  with  our  ancient  foe, 
But  from  his  evil  sting  deliverance  give. 

This  final  prayer,  dear  Lord,  from  us  doth  flow, 

Not  for  ourselves,  for  we  no  longer  need, 
But  for  their  sakes  whom  we  have  left  below. 

So  praying  for  themselves  and  us  "  God  speed  !  " 

Those  souls  went  on  their  way  beneath  their  weight, 
As  oft  in  dreams  such  evil  fancies  breed  ; 

Round  still  and  round,  in  anguish  disparate, 

Are  wearied  all,  along  the  bank  they  wound, 
While  I,  all  bent,  with  them  my  way  did  take. 

(Plumptre.) 

In  this  circle  Dante  feels  he,  too,  will  once  have  to  do 
penance,  and  again  in  the  last ;  the  flames  of  carnal  lust, 
pride  and  sensuality  are  the  sins  with  which  he  re- 
proaches himself  most.  Like  all  high-minded  persons,  he 
is  little  afraid  of  the  second  circle  where  the  piteous  vice 
of  the  narrow  and  small-minded,  Envy,  is  punished  with 
eyelids  sewn  together  with  a  thread. 

A  serene  atmosphere  of  hope  pervades  the  second 
realm,  from  the  beginning,  coloured  by  the  morning  dawn, 
to  the  end  with  its  strange  charm  as  of  twilight ;  then  a 
mysterious  and  starry  night  approaches,  which  will 
give  place  to  a  still  brighter  morning.  The  higher  they 
mount  the  easier  the  ascent  becomes  ;  one  feels  they  are 


THE   "DIVINE    COMEDY"  287 

getting  ever  farther  from  the  earth  and  all  terrestrial  and 
ponderous  things. 

They  ascend  the  mountains  in  a  spiral  line,  resting  at 
night ;  and  at  every  new  stair  leading  to  a  higher  terrace 
the  watching  angel,  by  a  waving  of  his  wings,  obliterates 
one  of  the  P's  on  Dante's  brow.  In  the  third  night  they 
rest  on  the  mountain's  last  step — immeasurably  high 
above  the  waters  and  the  earth.  Dante  now  is  free  from 
earthly  sin,  and  Virgil  ends  his  task,  saying : 

Look  not  for  me  to  signal  or  to  speak  ; 

Free,  upright,  healthy  is  thine  own  will  now, 
And  not  to  do  as  it  commands  were  weak  ; 

So  crowned  and  mitred,  o'er  thyself  rule  thou. 

With  the  opening  day  they  enter  the  earthly  Paradise, 
a  heavenly  fragrant  grove  surrounds  him,  where  birds  sing 
and  limpid  waters  flow  ;  a  beautiful  lady 

Who  as  she  went 
Sang  evermore  and  gathered  flower  on  flower, 
With  whose  bright  hues  her  path  was  all  besprent, 

walks  along  the  other  shore.  The  verses  in  this  part  of 
the  poem  are  of  a  strange  picturesque  beauty;  they 
breathe  an  air  of  serene  quiet ;  it  is  as  if  a  man  recovering 
from  long  illness  and  expecting  joy  and  health,  entering  a 
beautiful  landscape  there  meets  a  friend,  who  comes  but 
to  announce  a  still  greater  joy  :  for  after  Matilda  follows 
Beatrice. 

She  approaches  in  the  procession  of  the  Church 
Triumphant.  Seven  flaming  golden  candlesticks — like 
moving  trees  of  gold — come  first,  drawing  their  flames 
like  pennons  of  rainbow-bands  through  the  air ;  twenty- 
four  sainted  elders  follow;  then  the  car  drawn  by  the 


288  DANTE   AND    HIS   TIME 

Gryphon,  whose  wings  reach  into  heaven  ;  seven  virgins 
and  the  four  symbolic  animals  of  the  Evangelists  stride  at 
the  chariot's  side.  Then  follow  two  aged  men,  one  hold- 
ing the  sword  the  other  the  key ;  four  humble  men  come 
next ;  and,  finally,  alone  and  half  asleep,  he  who,  dwelling 
on  Patmos,  wrote  the  Apocalypse.  Thunder  is  heard 
and  the  procession  stops. 

And  one  of  them,  as  if  by  Heaven  sent  there, 

Sang,  "Veni,  Sponsa,  come  from  Lebanon  !  " 
Three  times,  and  all  the  rest  took  up  the  air. 

As  at  the  last  call  every  blessed  one 

Shall  quickly  from  his  cavern-tomb  return, 
And  "  Alleluias  "  sing  with  voice  re-won, 

So  where  the  car  divine  was  onward  borne 

A  hundred  rose  ad  voccm  tanti  Senis, 
Angels  and  heralds  of  the  life  etern ; 

And  all  said  "  Benedictus  es  qui  venis" 

And,  scattering  flowers  above  them  and  around, 
"  M ambus  O  date  Mia  plenis  !  " 

(Plumptre.) 

She  who  stands  on  the  car,  queenlike  in  look  and 
gesture,  whom  he  recognises  by  his  own  trembling, 
speaks  out:  "Gaze  well  upon  me.  Yes,  I  am,  I  am 
Beatrice !  " 

How  didst  thou  deem  thee  fit  to  climb  the  hill  ? 

Didst  thou  not  know  that  here  the  blessed  be  ? 
Mine  eyes  then  fell  upon  the  waters  still, 

But  there  myself  beholding,  to  the  grass 
I  turned,  such  shame  upon  my  brow  weighed  ill. 

She  held  her  peace,  and  from  the  angels  rang 
"  In  te  speravi,  Domine." 

(Plumptre.) 


THE   "DIVINE   COMEDY"  289 

They  pray  for  him,  and  the  ice  that  lay  around  Dante's 
heart  melts :  he  can  weep.  Beatrice,  turning  to  the  angels, 
addresses  them  in  verses  that  remind  us  of  the  solemn 
beauty  of  the  prologue  of  Faust : 

Ye  in  the  day  eternal  know  no  rest, 

So  that  nor  night  nor  sleep  from  you  can  steal 
One  step  upon  the  world's  great  path  imprest. 

"  You  therefore  know  how  that  man,"  she  says,  "  whom 
I  once  led  on  the  right  path  *  after  my  death  and  passage 
to  glory,  deserted  me  and  faithlessly  turned  to  ways 
which  were  not  true." 

O  thou  who  art  beyond  the  sacred  stream  .  .  . 
Say,  say  if  this  be  true  or  not ! 

A  "  Yes,"  stifled  by  tears  and  shame,  is  Dante's  answer. 
Deeper  guilt,  of  which  Virgil  did  not  know,  is  purged ; 
Matilda  dips  his  head  in  the  waters  of  Lethe,  the  river  of 
Forgetfulness,  and  Beatrice  unveils  her  face  to  him.  The 
dramatic  intensity  and  musical  force  of  these  passages  are 
indescribable ;  they  certainly  are  the  culminating  part  of 
the  great  poem. 

Now  follows  that  memorable  vision,  ending  with  the 
transformation  and  profanation  of  the  car,  representing 
the  severance  and  fall  of  Church  and  Empire.  Dante's, 
poem  is  the  world,  and  the  two  great  catastrophes  of  his. 
time  are  seen  by  him  reflected  in  a  mystical  image  on  the 
summit  of  his  earthly  pilgrimage.  With  unheard-of 
audacity  he  dared  to  incorporate  in  his  own  destiny  the 
world-shaking  historical  events  in  which  he  was  so  pas- 
sionately interested. 

One  more  draught  from  the  sweet  waters  of  Eunoe,  the 
source  of  memory  of  all  good,  and  he  rises 

*  See  chapter  iii. 

T 


290  DANTE   AND    HIS   TIME 

Pure  and  made  meet  to  mount  where  shines  each  star. 


On  this  side  noon,  that  midnight,  neared  their  birth  ; 

And  wholly  bright  was  all  one  hemisphere, 
The  other  swathed  in  gloom  through  all  its  girth, 

When  to  the  left  I  looked,  beholding  there 

My  Beatrice,  turned  to  see  the  sun ; 
Never  did  eagle's  glance  so  fixed  appear. 

And  as  a  second  ray  is  wont  to  run 

Forth  from  the  first,  and  reascend  on  high, 
Like  pilgrim  turning  when  his  course  is  done, 

So  from  ner  act,  upon  my  phantasy 

Through  sight  impressed,  my  own  its  birth  did  take, 
And  on  the  sun  fixed  unaccustomed  eye. 

There  much  may  be  that  here  the  law  would  break 
Which  our  sense  limits,  thanks  to  that  high  place 
Fashioned  that  there  mankind  their  home  might  make 

Not  long  I  bore  it,  nor  for  such  short  space 
But  that  I  saw  the  sparks  fly  all  around, 
As  molten  iron  from  furnace  flows  apace. 

And  .  uddenly  it  seemed  as  day  were  found 
Added  to  day,  as  though  the  Omnipotent 
With  yet  another  sun  the  heaven  had  crowned. 

And  Beatrice,  with  her  whole  gaze  bent 

On  the  eternal  spheres,  stood  still,  and  then 
I,jwith  my  glance  down-turned  and  eyes  intent. 

In  gazing  on  her,  felt  within  as  when 

Glaucos  of  old  of  that  strange  herb  did  eat, 
Which  with  the  sea-gods  made  him  denizen. 

To  paint  that  life  transhumanised  unmeet 

Were  any  words  :  this  instance  may  suffice 
Him  for  whom  Grace  keeps  that  experience  sweet. 


THE    "DIVINE   COMEDY "  291 

If  I  was  then  all  Thou  didst  last  devise 

In  Thy  creative  work,  Supremest  Love 
Thou  know'st  Who  with  Thy  light  did'st  bid  me  rise. 

When  that  high  sphere  Thou  dost  for  ever  move 

With  strong  desire,  my  thoughts  towards  it  drew, 
By  music  Thou  dost  temper  and  approve, 

It  seemed  as  though  the  sky  so  fiery  grew 

With  the  sun's  flame,  that  never  rain  nor  flood 
A  lake  across  a  wider  surface  threw. 

The  strange  new  sounds  and  wondrous  light  imbued 

My  soul  with  such  desire  the  cause  to  know, 
As  never  until  then  had  stirred  my  blood. 

(Plumptre.) 


That  is  Dante's  entrance  into  the  Spheres.  People 
who  think  it  necessary  to  find  fault  call  this  third  part 
weaker  than  the  former,  saying  that  Dante  had  attempted 
the  impossible.  It  is  true  he  repeatedly  interrupts  him- 
self, saying:  "I  cannot  describe  what  I  saw;  I  was 
another  when  I  was  up  there !  "  Yet  I  do  not  think  that 
these  words  are  an  avowal  of  the  poet's  feeling  of  im- 
potence to  give  adequate  expression  to  his  own  surpassing 
imagination,  but  rather  a  trick  to  make  the  reader  feel 
how  much  more  grand  and  beyond  all  description  the 
vision  still  was.  It  is  true  that  Dante  in  this  work  tries 
to  explain  the  supernatural  by  visible  signs,  to  suggest 
what  is  beyond  man's  thoughts,  to  depict  what  is  with- 
drawn from  our  sight,  to  speak  what  is  unspeakable. 
But  what  of  the  superhuman  a  man's  imagination  can 
conceive  and  his  art  express  he  has  fulfilled  in  this  work. 
He  was  "  trasumanato,"  carried  beyond  the  limits  of 
human  nature,  made  susceptible  of  transcendent  things. 

Here  every  line  is  music  that  defies  translation.     The 


292  DANTE   AND   HIS  TIMt 

numerous  theological  and  scholastic  discussions  on  Free 
Will  and  other  topics  may  sometimes,  interesting  as  they 
are,  interrupt  the  rich  poetical  flow,  but  what  do  such 
little  spots  matter?  By  some  persons  the  continual 
exultation,  the  ever-growing  joy  and  rapture,  the  increas- 
ing songs  of  the  blessed  choirs  have  been  found  mono- 
tonous.    I  must  think  of  what  Goethe  said  : 

Wenn  jeder  Augenblick  mich  durchschauert, 
Was  soil  ich  fragen,  wie  lang  es  gedauert  ? 

The  moments  of  light  which  Dante  paints  are  of  a 
variation  and  cumulative  power,  and  of  a  rising  force  of 
ecstasy,  that  to  me  seems  the  highest  that  human  art 
ever  has  performed  in  face  of  the  most  difficult  task : 
the  expression  of  the  triumph  of  good.  The  whole 
poem  is  the  culminating-point  of  Christian  poetry,  the 
highest  fruit  of  Christian  civilisation. 

Dante  passes  through  the  heavens  with  Beatrice,  "  as 
a  ray  passes  through  glass."  The  spirits,  whose  seat  is 
the  Empyrean,  appear  in  the  lower  heavens  as  pale  pearls 
in  transparent  water ;  but  they  become  even  more  radiant 
and  bright  the  farther  he  ascends  from  heaven  to  heaven. 
Ever  stronger  and  sweeter  becomes  the  light  as  well  as 
the  music. 

"  To  Father,  Son,  and  Holy  Ghost,"  began 

That  Gloria,  chante4  by  all  Paradise, 
And  I  was  drunk  with  joy,  so  sweet  it  ran. 

It  was  as  though  a  smile  did  meet  mine  eyes 

From  all  creation,  so  that  joy's  excess, 
Through  sight  and  hearing  did  my  mind  surprise. 

O  bliss,  O  joy,  no  mortal  may  express ! 

O  life,  filled  full  with  love  and  peace,  good  store ! 

O  riches,  free  from  selfish  eagerness ! 

(Plumptre.) 


THE   "DIVINE   COMEDY"  293 

That  is  in  the  eighth  heaven,  where  Christ  and  the 
angels  appear  to  him,  where  Gabriel  descends  in  a  robe 
of  flames  to  crown  the  Virgin,  where  Dante  makes  his 
confession  of  faith  to  the  Apostles,  and  Adam  explains  to 
him  the  fall  of  man.  Then  St.  Peter  speaks  of  his  Vicar 
on  earth,  while  the  skies  darken  around  him. 

The  exulting  verse  gives  way  to  accents  of  terrible 
anger  and  indignation  against  him 

Who  occupies  my  place  on  earth,  my  place ! 

From  the  ninth  heaven  Dante  sees  the  nine  choirs  of 
angels,  who  revolve  the  nine  heavens  around  the  earth, 
themselves  turning  in  radiant  circles  faster  and  ever 
faster  around  one  sparkling  point  of  ineffable  light.  That 
conception  is  of  an  unexampled  grandeur :  that  which 
in  the  world  of  the  senses  seemed  to  turn  slowly  and 
heavily  around  the  earthly  centre  of  man,  here  in  the 
spiritual  world,  which  is  the  truly  real  one,  is  seen  gyra- 
ting around  God. 

But  soaring  ever  higher  he  has  already  reached  the 
Empyrean  itself. 

In  fashion  of  a  white  rose  glorified 

Shone  out  on  me  that  saintly  chivalry, 
Whom  with  His  blood  Christ  won  to  he  His  bride  ; 

But  the  other  host,  which,  as  it  soars  on  high, 

Surveys,  and  sings,  the  glory  of  its  love, 
The  goodness,  too,  that  gave  it  majesty, — 

As  swarm  of  bees  that  deep  in  flowerets  move 

One  moment,  and  the  next  again  return 
To  where  their  labour  doth  its  sweetness  prove, — 

Dipped  into  that  great  flower  which  doth  adorn 

Itself  with  myriad  leaves,  then  mounting,  came 
There  where  its  love  doth  ever  more  sojourn. 


294  DANTE  AND   HIS   TIME 

Their  faces  had  they  all  of  living  flame, 

Their  wings  of  gold,  and  all  the  rest  was  white, 
That  snow  is  none  such  purity  could  claim. 

And  to  the  flower  from  row  to  row  their  flight 

They  took,  and  bore  to  it  the  peace  and  glow, 
Gained  by  them  as  they  fanned  their  flanks  aright. 

Nor  did  the  crowd  then  moving  to  and  fro, 

Between  the  flower  and  that  which  rose  above, 
Impede  the  sight  or  splendour  of  the  show ; 

Seeing  that  the  light  of  God  doth  freely  move 

Through  the  whole  world,  as  merit  makes  it  right, 
So  that  nought  there  can  hindrance  to  it  prove. 

This  realm,  secure  and  full  of  great  delight, 
Filled  with  the  hosts  of  old  or  later  time, 
To  one  sole  point  turned  love  alike  and  sight. 

O  Trinal  Light,  that  in  one  star  sublime 

Dost  with  thy  rays  their  soul  so  satisfy, 
Look  down  with  pity  on  our  storm-beat  clime  ! 

(Plumptre.) 

Once  more  all  the  bitterness  of  the  exile  bursts  forth'in 
his  verse.  If  the  barbarians  once  stood  aghast  in  face 
of  the  splendour  of  Imperial  Rome,  think  how  I  was 
stunned — 

I,  who  to  God  had  now  passed  on  from  man, 

From  time  to  that  great  sempiternal  day, 
From  Florence  to  a  people  just  and  sane. 

Beatrice  sits  already  high  above  him  in  her  place  near 
the  Virgin,  and  from  the  depth  of  his  heart  he  sends;  his 
prayer  of  thanks  up  to  her.  St.  Bernard  now  steps  in 
her  place,  and  for  him  speaks  that  famous  prayer  to 
which  no  translation  will  ever  do  iustice : 


THE   "DIVINE   COMEDY"  295 

O  Virgin  Mother,  daughter  of  thy  Son, 

Lowlier  and  loftier  than  all  creatures  seen, 
Goal  of  the  counsels  of  the  Eternal  One, 

Thyself  art  she  who  this  our  nature  mean 
Hast  so  ennobled  that  its  Maker  great 
Deigned  to  become  what  through  it  made  had  been. 

In  thy  blessed  womb  the  Love  renewed  its  heat 
By  whose  warm  glow  in  this  our  peace  eterne 
This  heavenly  flower  first  did  germinate. 

Here,  in  Love's  noon-tide  brightness,  thou  dost  burn 

For  us  in  glory ;  and  to  mortal  sight 
Art  living  fount  of  hope  to  all  that  yearn. 

Lady,  thou  art  so  great  and  of  such  might, 

That  he  who  seeks  grace  yet  turns  not  to  thee, 
Would  have  his  prayer,  all  wingless,  take  its  flight ; 

Nor  only  doth  thy  kind  benignity 

Give  help  to  him  who  asks,  but  many  a  time 
Doth  it  prevent  the  prayer  in  bounty  free. 

In  thee  is  mercy,  pity,  yea,  sublime 

Art  thou  in  greatness,  and  in  thee,  with  it, 
Whate'er  of  good  is  in  creation's  clime. 

He  who  stands  here,  who,  from  the  lowest  pit 

Of  all  creation,  to  this  point  hath  pass'd 
The  line  of  spirits,  each  in  order  fit, 

On  thee  for  grace  of  strength  himself  doth  cast, 

So  that  he  may  his  eyes  in  vision  raise 
Upwards  to  that  Salvation  noblest,  last. 

And  I,  who  never  for  my  power  to  gaze 

Burnt  more  than  now  for  his,  pour  all  my  prayer, 
And  pray  it  meet  not  failure  nor  delays  : 

Wherefore  do  thou  all  clouds  that  yet  impair 

His  vision  with  mortality,  remove. 
That  he  may  see  the  joy  beyond  compare. 


296     #  DANTE  AND   HIS  TIME 

And  next  I  pray  thee,  Queen,  whose  power  doth  prove 
Matched  with  thy  will,  that  thou  wilt  keep  his  mind, 
After  such  gaze,  that  thence  it  may  not  rove. 

Let  thy  control  all  human  impulse  bind  ; 

See  Beatrice,  how  through  my  prayers  she 
And  many  a  saint  their  hands  in  prayer  have  joined. 

(Plumptre.) 

And  Dante  sees  God.     But  here  the  song  ends  : 
The  force  of  his  high  fancy  faileth  him. 

But  his  spirit  already  floats  with  the  seraphic  leader 
in  the  holy  circle,  willing,  what  is  willed  there,  one  with 
God,  moved  by  that  love 

That  moveth  the  Sun  and  all  the  other  stars. 

Now  all  is  fulfilled  that  he  had  designed  at  the  close  of 
the  "  New  Life,"  and  even  the  wish  expressed  there  had 
been  granted.  No  human  being  will  sustain  such  ecstasy. 
Not  in  vain  has  it  been  said,  "  He  dies  who  saw  Jehova's 
face/' 

The  last  gigantic  scenes  were  scarcely  finished  when 
the  soul  left  the  shaken  and  exhausted  body. 

He  died  at  Ravenna  on  September  14,  1321,  on  the  day 
of  the  Erection  of  the  Cross,  while  staying  at  the  court  of 
Guido  da  Polenta,  with  whom  he  had  passed  his  last  years. 
It  is  possible  that  on  returning  from  Venice,  where  he 
had  been  sent  as  Guido's  ambassador,  he  caught  a  fever 
in  the  swamps  he  had  to  pass,  which  led  to  his  death. 
He  was  a  little  more  than  fifty-six  years  old. 

He  was  buried  in  the  Franciscan  Convent,  opposite  the 
house  in  which  he  had  dwelt. 


THE   "DIVINE  COMEDY"  297 

We  know  as  little  about  these  last  years  as  about  the 
rest  of  his  life.  Yet  it  seems  that  here  at  least  he  was 
duly  honoured ;  his  embassy  to  Venice  in  the  prince's 
name  leaves  no  doubt  of  it. 

Repeatedly  the  Florentines  asked  the  people  of  Ravenna 
to  return  his  bones  to  them,  but  always  in  vain.  The  last 
time  they  did  so  was  in  the  year  1864. 

In  the  year  1329  the  Cardinal  Bertrand  du  Poyet,  who 
had  ordered  Dante's  book,  "  De  Monarchia,"  to  be  burnt 
in  public,  wanted  to  do  the  same  with  his  bones,  "  to  the 
eternal  shame  and  extinction  of  his  memory,"  and  it 
would  have  been  done  but  for  the  strenuous  opposition  of 
Pino  della  Tosa,  a  noble  Florentine,  and  Messer  Ostagio 
da  Polenta,  who  prevented  it. 

In  the  quiet  town  of  exiles,  at  the  corner  of  the  Via 
Dante,  stands  the  little  chapel  with  the  monument  and 
the  two  inscriptions,  one  of  which,  composed  by  Bernardo 
Canaccio,  concludes  with  the  strong  verses : 

Hie  claudor  Dantes  patriis  extorris  ab  oris, 
Quern  genuit  parvi  Florentia  mater  amc-ris. 
(Here  I  am  enclosed,  Dante,  exiled  from  my  native  country, 
Whom  Florence  bore,  the  mother,  that  little  did  love  him.) 

In  one  corner  above  the  portrait  the  words  are  written  : 
11  His  non  cedo  malis."   ("  I  do  not  give  in  to  misfortune.") 

The  chapel  touches  the  weathered  tile-walls  of  the  long- 
deserted  cloister;  behind  an  iron  screen  are  seen  the 
sarcophaguses  of  the  Princes  of  the  House  of  Polenta,  the 
old  tower  of  the  convent  looks  over  the  wall.  Grass 
grows  at  the  margin  of  the  solitary  street — no  resting- 
place  could  be  more  quiet. 


INDEX 


Abbot   of  Malmesbury,  see  Eri- 

gena 
Abelard,  Peter,  10,  99,  102 
Adami,  Guido  degli,  149 
Adimari,  Bernardo,  172 
Adimari,  Goccia,  172 
Adimari,  The,  156 
^Eneas,  28 
Albert    of    Hapsburg,    Emperor, 

243 
Alberti,  Counts,  154 
Alberti,  The,  156 
Albertus  Magnus,  Archbishop  of 

Ratisbon,  99-100,  108 
Albigensian  War,  125 
Albrecht,  Emperor,  42 
Aldobrandeschi,  Count,  154,  156 
Alfani,  Gianni,  132 
Alighieri,  see  Dante 
Alighieri,  Genevra,  239 
Alighieri,  Counts  of  Serego-,  239 
Amidei,  The,  162 
Anjou,  House  of,  57 
Anselm  of  Lucca,  Bishop,  37 
Anti-Pope,  39 
Antique  civilisation,  4,  28 
Antique,  Destruction  of  the,  1-9 
Antiquity  and  mediaeval  society, 

27 
Aquinas,  Thomas,  11,  102 
Aretino,  Lionardo,  202 
Ariosto,  131 

Aristarchus  of  Samos,  78 
Aristotle's  works,  81,  94,  95,  99 
Arnaut,  Daniel,  120-121 
Art  treasures  of  old  Rome,  7 
"  Aspis,"  Brunetto's,  87 
Assisi,  142,  173 


Astronomy,  ancient  and  modern, 

79-81 
Averroes,  Arabic  philosopher,  103- 

104 
Averroistic  doctrines,  103-104 
Avignon,  146 


Bacon,  Roger,  100-101,  102 

"  Banquet,"  Dante's,    224,    232, 

254-256,  257 
Baptismal    custom    of   sixteenth 

century,  14 
Barbarossa,  Emperor,  156 
Bartoli,  Professor,  137,  223 
Beatrice,    Dante's,  204-231,    269, 

290,  292 
Beatrice  die  Bardi,  nee  Portinari, 

222 
Bede,  109 

Benevento,  Battle  of,  164 
Berenger  of  Tours,  99 
Berger,  Alfred  von,  284 
Bernardone,  Pietro,  142,  143 
"  Bicci "  (Forese  Donati),  236 
Biography,  source  of,  183 
Boccaccio,  196,  198,  199,  216,  238, 

245,  247,  252,  258,  265 
Boethius,  94, 232 
Bologna,  157 
Bologna  University,  109,  no,  159, 

198 
Bolognese,  54 
Boniface  VIII.,  Pope,    146,    148, 

241,  242-244 
Born,  Bertrandde,  69,  120 
Brandes,  George,  180,  184 
Brunetto,  see  Latini 


300 


INDEX 


Bruno,  Giordano,  doctrine,  79 

Bulle,  230 

Bunyan's   "Pilgrim's  Progress, 

191 
Buondelmonte's  death,  156,  162 
Burckhardt,  247 
Buti,  Francesco  de,  216 
Byron,  Lord,  129,  212,  221 


Cacciaguida,  Signor,  159, 196, 251 
Cajetano,  Cardinal,  242 
Calaroga  in  Spain,  141 
Campaldino,  battle,  201 
Canaccio,  Bernardo,  297 
Can  Grande,  Court  of,  251,  270, 

276 
Canossa,  castle,  36,  37 
Capraja,  fortress,  155 
Carlyle,  Thomas,  182,  278,  284 
Caroccio,  the  car  of  the  banner, 

156 
Cassella,  284 
Catholic  faith,  103 
Catholic  religion  of  Rome,  16-21 
Cavalcanti  the  elder,  280 
Cavalcanti,  Guido,  132,  133,  199, 

201,  235,  236,  240 
Caesar,  94,  154 

Cecco  Angolieri  of  Siena,  127-128 
Celestine  V.,  Pope,  242,  243 
Cerchi,  Vieri  de',  172 
Charlemagne,  23,  24,  32,  77,  154 
Charles  V.,  Emperor,  160,  165 
Charles  of  Valois,  245 
Charm,  277 

Chivalry,  114,  115-116,  125,  130 
Christian  Church  typified,  215 
Christian  of  Mainz,  Archbishop, 

136 
Christian  religion,  influence,  1, 10, 

12,  13 
Christian  warriors  of  Middle  Ages, 

Church,  The,  cradle  of  intellect, 

92-93 
Church  and  Empire,  289 
Church    and    Reformation,    139- 

140 
Church  and  State,  30-40,  43,  45 
Church  of  Rome,  136,  189 


Church,  States  of  the,  62,  63 

Ciacco,  279 

Cino  de'  Sinibuldi  da  Pistoja,  132, 

133,  134,  220,  260 
Cities,  rise  of,  69-72 
Civilisation  of  Ancient  Rome,  7-8 
Clement,  Pope,  164 
Clergy  in  1409,  137 
"Clerk,"  derivation,  92 
Cluny,  33,  34 
Codex  Ashburnham,  216 
Colle  Val  d'Elsa,  155 
Coin,  Archbishop  of,  92 
Colonna,  Sciarra,  243,  244 
Comedy,  term,  270 
Commerce  and  exchange,  66-67, 

72 
Compagni,   Dino,    170,    172,   173, 

240,  245 
"  Conceptualists,"  97,  99 
Conrad  III.,  Emperor,  196 
Conrad  IV. ,  Emperor,  57 
Conradin,  Emperor,  57,  165,  202 
Constance  of  Sicily,  44,  45,  54 
Constans  II.,  Emperor,  23 
Constantine,  48,  49 
Contard,  Madame,  banker's  wife, 

224 
"  Conventuals,"  147 
Convivio  Amoroso,  see ' '  Banquet " 
Copernicus,  Nicholas,  79,  82,  89 
Covenant  of  Old  Testament,  94 
Crusades,  46,  47,  125 


Dante  (or  Durante)  Alighieri, 
birth,  125,  165,  188,  195-196; 
few  facts  known  of  him,  179; 
genius  unrecognised  by  contem- 
poraries, 180 ;  his  Urza  rimu, 
179  ;  considered  of  good  family, 
181;  expressive  face,  182,252; 
personal  appearance,  252-253 ; 
portraits,  253  :  personality,  254 ; 
aim,  74  ;  style,  185 ;  philology 
his  first  step,  88  ;  erudition,  77, 
233  ;  his  works  a  poetical  auto- 
biography, 185 :  intensity  of 
soul,  186,  193  ;  his  vision  as  ex- 
pressed in  the ' '  Divine  Comedy, ' ' 
186,  187-188  ;  at  Ravenna,  188 ; 


INDEX 


301 


influenced  by  Virgil,  1&8  ;  epic 
based  on  a  real  world,  189; 
symbolical  view  of  the  world, 
82 ;  his  world,  80-82  ;  the  Visi- 
ble Church  changed  into  the 
Invisible,  189 ;  world  and  men 
of  Dante's  day  re-arranged,  190; 
his  symbols,  190-191 ;  writings 
a  mystical  reflection  of  his  life, 
107  ;  love  of  Beatrice,  193  ;  first 
period  of  life,  193, 194,  influence 
of  St.  Lucia,  196 ;  marries  a 
Donati,  196,  237,  238 ;  King  of 
Naples'  friendship,  196,  239  ;  his 
mother's  family,  197  ;  youth, 
198-203  ;  his  friends,  199,  205  ; 
portrait  of  Giotto,  199  ;  at  battle 
of  Campaldino,  201 ;  at  siege  of 
Caprona,  202  ;  his  poem  of  the 
new  life,  "VitaNuova,"  112,  133, 

204,  210  ;  Beatrice  its  heroine, 

205,  211-212,  216,  222  ;  his  in- 
spiration, 210 ;  his  son  Pietro, 
216 ;  his  aberration,  221 ;  views 
as  to  his  ideal,  223,  choice  of 
symbol  for  divine  love  and 
grace,  227 ;  ruled  by  love 
through  Beatrice,  228 ;  idyllic 
meeting  in  Eden,  229 ;  Beatrice's 
death,  231  ;  and  Dante's  despair, 

232  ;  philosophy  symbol,  233  ; 
novice  of  Order  of  St.  Francis, 

233  ;  dissolute  period,  235  ;  his 
debts,  239 ;  verses  on  Forese 
Donati,  236 ;  social  status,  238  ; 
his  sons  and  daughters,  238- 
239;  active  politician,  239;  in, 
councils  of  Florence^  168,  171 ; 
Prior  ot  Florence,  240  ;  action 
of  Pope  Boniface  affects  Dante, 
241, 245  ;  revolution  in  Florence, 
173  ;  condemnejcLlQ_exile,  247, 
252  ;  his  latter  day  aspect,  250 ; 
quits  fellow  exiles,  251  ;  studies 
at  Padua,  etc.,  251 ;  his  "  Ban- 
quet," 81,  84,  254;  his  "Song 
of  Florence,"  158-159,  261-262; 
his  "De  Vulgari  Eloquentia," 
256;  his  "  De  Monarchia,"  28, 

256,  297 ;    a  devout   Catholic, 

257,  268;  false  hopes,  262; 
audience  with  Henry  of  Luxem- 


bourg, 262 ;  trilogy  in  works, 
257;  affections  in  later  life,  258- 
259  ;  portrait  as  an  exile,  263 ; 
production  of  Divine  Comedy, 
263-269 ;  self-criticism,  266-267 ; 
epitome  of  career,  267  ;  a  friend, 
284 ;  bitterness  of  exile,  248, 
294 ;  dies  at  Ravenna,  296 ; 
burial,  296 ;  his  patron,  297 ; 
ambassador  to  Venice,  296-297 ; 
his  tomb,  297 ;  minor  references, 
94,  120,  121,  126,  127,  128,  131, 
133,  135,  146 
Dante's  daughter  Antonia,  238 
Dante's  second  daughter  Beatrice, 

239 
Dante's  son  Jacopo,  239,  265 
Dante's  son  Pietro,  239 
"Das    Ewig  -  Weibliche,"    etc., 

Goethe  and  Dante,  230 
Davidsohn,  Dr.  Robert,  153,  161, 

195 

Degrees,  university,  no 

Democracy,  rise  of,  72 

Democritus,  95 

Desiderius,  Gallic  Bishop,  76 

"  Dies  Irae,"  148 

Diez,  219 

Dircks,  Mr.  W.  H.,  253 

Dino,  see  Compagni 

Dino,  Frescobaldi,  132 

Disputes  of  Middle  Ages,  68-69 

"  Divine  Comedy,"  42,  175,  215, 
224,  261,  265-297 ;  5th  Canto  of 
Hell,  221,  224 ;  6th  circle,  53  ; 
7th  circle  of  Hell,  83  ;  8th  Canto 
of  Hell  and  Pope  Nicolas  II., 
138-139;  10th  Canto  of  Hell,  56; 
7th  Canto  of  Purgatory,  King 
Manfred,  165  ;  23rd  Canto,  236 ; 
24th  Canto  of  Purgatory,  209, 
210 ;  10th  Canto  of  Paradise, 
109;  12th  Canto,  140;  25th  Canto, 
263 ;  the  Comedy  compared  with 
"Faust,"  187,  205 

"  Diotima,"  224 

"  Doctor  Angelicus,"  100 

"  Doctor  Subtilis,"  100 

Doctrine  of  original  sin,  16 

Donati,  Corso,  171,172,201,240,246 

Donati,  Forese,  197,  236 

Donati,  Gemma,  238 


302 


INDEX 


Donati,  M.  Fortiguerra,  162,  171 
Donation  of  Constantine,  30,  49 
Donation    of    Kings    Pipin    and 

Louis,  30 
Dress  in  mediaeval  times,  66 


Education,  93 

Emerson,  R.  W.,  74,  101, 105, 106, 

183 
Emperor,  title  of,  23,  24,  25,  32 
Emperor  Henry  III.,  33,  35 
Emperor  Henry  IV.,  36 
Emperor  Lewis,  101 
Empire,  the,  25,  166 ;  high  offices 

in,  92 
Empire  of  women,  <&7,  115-116 
Empiric  sciences,  gr 
Empyreum,  80 
Encyclopaedia,  Brunetto's,  84 
Erigena,  Johannes  Scotus,  95,  98, 

100,  105 
Erigio,  capture  of,  54 
Eschenbach,  Wolfram  von,  188 
Europe  devastated  by  barbarians, 

6 
Eusebius,  76 
Evangelium    secundum     Marcus 

Argenti,  137-138 
Experimental  science,  113 


Fjesuljz,  Tuscany,  154 

Faith,  105 

Fano,  town  of,  149 

Farinata,  see  Uberti 

Faust,  187,  192, 230, 289 

Feudal  system,  64-65,  72 

Feudalism  decline,  43 

Fia  sola !  154 

Fiefs  of  office,  65 

Fiesole,  153 

Figuinildi  family,  153 

Fiorentino,  56 

Flagellants,  53,  54 

Florence,  64,  133,   i53-*75.    *95» 

239,  245,  250,  261 
Florentia,  plain  of,  154 
"Florin,"  origin  of,  157 
France,  114 
Francescaand  Paolo,  218, 221,  224, 

259,  280 


Franciscan  monks,  136-152 

Frederic  Barbarossa,  38,  43,  44 

Frederic  of  Antioch,  163 

Frederic  II.,  46-47,  50,  53,  54-56, 
61,  62,  99,  109,  163,  166,  280, 
death  of  his  son  Henry,  54 

Fulcher  of  Chartres,  39 


Gabrielli,  Cante  de',  246 

"  Geistesgang  "  of  Dante,  231,  257 

Genoa,  159 

Gentucca,  a  girl,  261 

Gerbert  of  Rheims,  77 

Geri,  son  of  Bello,  236 

German  Margraves,  154 

German  Popes,  33,  34 

Germanic  poetry,  129 

Germans,  3,  4,  6, 12, 14,  22,  43, 147 

Germany  in  Middle  Ages,  61,66, 71 

Ghibellines,  40,  53,  55,  143,  162, 

163, 165,  171 
Giano  della  Bella,  169,  170,  171 
Gibel,  53 

Gietmann,  Father,  223 
Giotto,  145,  173 
Gothic  architecture,  114 
Gothic  wars,  154 
Goethe,  74,  88,  105,  11 1,  230,  259, 

292 
Goliards,  Songs  of  the,  127 
Gracchi,  The,  170 
**  Grande"  of  Florence,  160 
Gratian,  108 

Greek  influence  in  Italy,  23 
Gregory  I.,  Pope,  225 
Gregory  the  Great,  Pope,  76 
Gregory  VII.,  Pope,  32,  36,  37,  38, 

45 
Gregory  IX.,  Pope,  38,  46,  49,  50 

Gudibrand  the  Longobard,  Duke, 

154 
Guelf,  45,  47,  53,  56,  83,  143,  163, 

164,    165,    166,    171  ;     Tuscan 

League,  156,  162 
Guidi,  Count,  154,  156 
Guinicelli,   Guido,  131,  224;    his 

canzone,  131-132 


Hadrian  I.,  Pope,  23 
Hapsburg  Dynasty,  42 


INDEX 


303 


Haureau,  94,  99 

Heine,  129 

Hell,  conceptions  of,  73  ;  shades 
in,  64 ;  symbolised,  280 

Heller,  S.,  284 

Henry  II.  of  England,  38 

Henry  IV.,  Emperor,  156 

Henry  VI.,  44,  54 

Henry  VII.  of  Luxemburg,  Em- 
peror, 256,  262,  276 

Hettinger,  Dr.  Frank,  257 

Hildebrand,  Pope,  34 

History,  theme  of,  58 

Hohenstaufens.Tne.32,  41-57, 127, 
160,  163 

Holderlin,  Friedrich,  224 

Homer,  277 

Honorius  III.,  46 

Huns,  The,  154 

Hymn  to  the  Sun,  St.  Francis's, 
144-5 


Idealism,  97 
Imperial  ideas,  24 
Innocent  III.,  147 
Innocent  IV.,  40,45,  50 
Innocent  VH.'sDe  contcmptu  mundi, 

17 
Inquisition,  The,  141 
Investitures,  War  of,  35 
4 '  Isagoge ' '  of  Porphyry,  94 
Isidore,  109 

Isidorus,  Decretals  of,  31 
Italian  cities,  power  of,  43 
Italy,  Kings  of,  23,  32 
Italy  in  Middle  Ages,  61-64 
Italy.  126,  268,  285 


Jerusalem,  46 

Jesus,  104 

Jews  in  Sicily,  55 

Joachim,  Abbot  of  Flores,  147 

Justinian,  Emperor,  12 


Kadi  Abul  Ibn  Roscht,  103 
Klopstock,  187 
Kyffhauser,  Mount  of,  56 


"  Ladies  that  have  intelligence  in 

Love,"  207-209 
Lamberti  Mosca  de',  162 
Lamprecht,  36,  125 
Lapo  Gianni,  132,  201 
Latin  tongue,  26,  126 
Latino,  Cardinal,  241 
Latini  Ser  Brunetto,  83-84,  87,  88 
Laws  of  the  Middle  Ages,  68 
Learning,    revival    of,     77  ;    de- 
veloped and  retarded,  93 
Leo,  Abbot  of  San  Bonifazio,  76 
Leo  IV.,  24,  25 
Life  as  viewed  in  Middle  Ages,  17- 

19;  in  time  of  Frederic  II.,  51- 

52 
"Li  tresors"  Brunetto's  description, 

84-88 
Limbo,  103 
Literature,  Italian  and  Mediaeval, 

126 
Lombard,  Peter,  19,  109 
Lombards,  159 
Longobard  Dukedoms,  62,  71 
Lothar,  Emperor,  32 
Love,  135,228;  poetry,  129-130, 

207-210,  218-219 
Lucca,  164,  261 
Lyons,  Council  of,  50 


Machiavelli,  38,  196 

Mainz,  Archbishop  of,  92 

Manfred,  53  ;  Emperor,  56,  57 ; 
King,  163,  164,202,  284 

Mankind,  development  of,  58-59 

Mantua,  47 

Martinella,  Florence  war  bell,  156 

Martini,  Simone,  141 

Matilda  of  Tuscany,  37,  156 

Matildan  inheritance,  45 

Mediaeval  city  life,  8-9 ;  know- 
ledge, 74-91 ;  life,  59-61  ;  motive 
power,  90 ;  philosophy,  101 

Messina  factories,  157 

Michael  Angelo,  160,  264 

Middle  Ages,  German  tradition,  3; 
learning,  92;  life  in— its  coun- 
terpart, 60  ;  political  ideal,  28  ; 
superstitions,  78 

Milan,  53 


304 


INDEX 


Milton,  187 

11  Minnesong,"  125,  135, 188 

"Monarchia,  De,"  28,  256,  297 

Monastic  life,  16-17 

Monetary  system,  72 

Montagnagout,  Guillem  de,  116 

Montarperti,  163 

Montelupo  fortress,  155 

Montfort,  165,  203 

Moral  development,  13,  15 

Morals,  Ancient  and  Christian,  15 

Mussulmans,  95,  115 

Mysticism  of  Middle  Ages,  33-34 

Myths,  early,  89 


Naples,  King  of,  239  ;  University, 

109 
National  growth,  166 
Natural  Science  in  Middle  Ages, 

83 
"  Naturae,  De  Divisione,"  98 
Natural  History  of  Middle  Ages, 

86-88 
"New  Life,"  see  "Vita  Nuova" 
Nicolas  I.,  Pope,  32 
Nicolas  II.,  Pope,  34,  138 
Nicolas  IV.,  Pope,  241 
Nobleman's  revenue,  67 
Nominalism,  97,  101,  105 
Novello,  Count  Guido,  164,  165 


Ockham,  William  of,  100-101 
Office  in  the  "  Middle  Age  "  Em- 
pire, 92 
M  Or  San  Michele,"  239 
Orbicciani,  Buonaguinta,  209 
Orlandi  Guido,  132 
Orthodox  belief,  75 
Otfried  of  Weissenburg,  27 
Otto  III.,  49,  77 
Oxford  University,  no 
Ozanam,  92 


Padua,  5x>  j73,  198 
Pallavicini>  Marquis  of,  53,  62 
Papal  power,  25 


Paradise,  see  Divine  Comedy 

Paris,  108,114,  278 ;  and  Aver roism, 
104 

Parmese,  54 

Perez,  Francesco,  223,  260 

Perugia,  142 

Petrarca,  121 

Philip  the  Fair,  243 

Philosophy,  12,  94,  95,  101,  104, 
233,  235 

u  Phoedo,"  94 

Pisa,  157,  159,  173 

Pisans,  The,  155 

Planets,  80 

Plato,  90,  94,  95,  96,  131 

Pliny,  86 

Plumptre,  Dean,  139, 159,  211,  215, 
221,  230J  249,  261,  262,  263,  274, 
286,  288-289,  292,  294,  296 

Pochhammer,  Lt.-Col.,  222,  230, 
269, 284 

Podesta  of  Florence,  160,  163,  174 

Poet,  the  book  of  a  true,  183 

Poetry  in  eleventh  and  twelfth  cen- 
turies, 127;  chivalrous,  127, 129; 
Italian,  126-135  5  religion's,  127, 
136  ;  without  symbolism,  226  ; 
Provencal,  218 

Poets,  Florentine,  132;  of  Middle 
Ages,  118 

Polenta,  Guido  de,  296 

Polenta,  Ostagio,  297 

Popes  and  temporal  power,  29,  32, 

33 
Pope  Boniface  VIII.,  146,  166  \see 

Clement,  Gregory,  Hildebrand, 

Innocent  and  Nicholas 
Porphyry,  94,  96 

Portinari,  Folco  di  Ricovero,  216 
Prayer  to  the  Virgin,  295-296 
"  Primum  Mobile,"  80 
"  Protonous  "  of  Greeks,  81 
Provencals,  The,  1 14-125 
Ptolemceus  Claudius,  76 
Puy-Laurent,  Guillem  de,  117 


Rabands,  Maurus,  99 
Rambaut  of  Vacqueiras,  122 
Raphael's  M  School  of  Athens,"  95 
"  Realism  of  Middle  Ages,"  97,  105 


INDEX 


305 


Reality,  22 

Reason,  102,  103 

Religion,  change  in,  77  ;  of  medi- 
aeval times,  74-75 

Renaissance,  27 

Rienzi,  C,  27 

Rimini,  Francesca  da,  278-279 

Roman  Church,  31,  33,  35,  93 

Roman  empire,  decay,  4-9 ;  of  the 
German  nation,  42 

Roman  law,  25-26 

Romance  tongues,  117 

Rome,  38,  42,  159,  160  ;  fall  of,  5, 
7  ;  residence  of  God's  Vicar,  82; 
and  the  Popes,  38 

Romish  exactions,  50 

Roscellinus,  99 

Rossetti,  D.  G.,  132,  133,  200,  201, 
209,  213,  228,  235 


Sacchetti,  199 

St.  Agatha,  157 

St.  Anselm,  99 

St.  Benedict,  11 

St.  Bernard,  106,  107,  231,  294 

St.  Bonaventura,  107 

St.  Clara,  143 

St.  Dominic  Gusman,  140 

St.  Elizabeth,  55 

St.  Francis  of  Assisi,  94,  142-147; 

Order  of,  100,  136-152 
St.  Lucia,  275 

St.  Reparata,  Church  of,  157 
St.  Thomas  Aquino,  100,  102, 107, 

108 
Saladin,  277 
Salerno  University,  109 
Salimbene  of  Parma,  Fra,  51,  54, 

56,  116,  127,  148-149;  his  choice, 

149-151 
San  Giovanni,  baptistery,  158 
Saracens  in  Sicily,  55,  56 
Scartazzini,  179, 187,  217,  220, 234, 

257.  258 
Schools  founded,  77 
Science,  76  83 
Scrot,  Count,  154 
Serego,  Count,  239 
Shakespeare,  179,  180,  183,  184 
Sicilian  Counts  of  Aquino,  100 
Sicily,  44, 55;  Poets  at  Court  of,  127 


Sidney,  Sir  P.,  "Stella,"  227 

Siena,  163 

Sigier  of  Brabant,  108 

Social  conditions  in  Dante's  time, 

58-73 
Social  degrees,  65-66 
Socrates,  90 

Sordello  of  Mantua,  122,  285 
Spinoza,  95,  98 
Spirituals,  147 

"Stabat  Mater  Dolorosa,"  148 
■ '  Stella,"  Sidney's,  227 
Suavizi  family,  155 
Sulla,  154 
Swinburne,  131 
Sylvester  II. ,  77 


Tertullian,  15 

Theodora,  mother  of  St.  Thomas 

Aquino,  100 
Theology,  triumph  of,  104-5 
Thomas  of  Celano,  148, 150,1 51-1 52 
Timasus,  94 

Todi,  Jacopone  da,  Fra,  148 
Torre,  Lords  Delia,  53 
Tosa,  Pino  della,  297 
Totila,  154 

Trajan,  Emperor  5,  11 
Trajan  Rhipeus,  11 
Treuga  Dei,  69 
Trier,  Archbp.,  92 
Trinity,  The,  98 
Tristan,  278 
Troubadours,  118-119,  122 


Ubaldini,  Cardinal,  53 

Uberti,   Farinata   degli,  53,   163, 

164 
Ugolino,  Count,  281 
Unbelief  of  thirteenth  century,  104 
Universe  of  Middle  Ages,  78,  80 
Universals,  96 
Universities,  The,  108-114 


Vallombrosa,  34 
Vauvenargues,  106 


3o6 


INDEX 


Venice,  159 

Ventadour,  Bernard  de,  118,  no- 

120 
Vicars  of  the  Empire,  154 
Victor,  108 
Villani,  G.,  Florentine  chronicler, 

47.  54. 154.  i7°-I7i,i72, 174.  *96 
Virgil,  10,  28,  188,  213,  225,  229, 

259,  272,  273,  274,  275,  289 
••  Vita  Nuova,"  Dante's,  133,  135, 

198,  200,  204-205,  210-213,  220, 

221,  222,  225,  228,  231,  234,  235 


Vogelweide,  Walther  von  der,  49, 
119 


Wagner,  188 

Waldensians,  146 

War  of  the  Investitures,  40 

Witte,  195,  196,  257 

William  of  Ockham  (see  Ockham, 

William  of) 
Women  in  Middle  Ages,   11 5-1 16, 

129-131 


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